Mm  of  tfie 


The  Story  of  the  Southern  Mountaineer  and  His 

Kin  of  the  Piedmont;  with  an  Account  of 

Some  of  the  Agencies  of  Progress 

among  Them 


BY 


ARTHUR  W.  SPAULDING 


SOUTHERN  PUBLISHING  ASSOCIATION 

NASHVILLE,  TENNESSEE 
ATLANTA,  GEORGIA  FORT  WORTH,  TEXAS 


COPYRIGHTED    1915,    BY 
SOUTHERN   PUBLISHING  ASSOCIATION 


PREFACE 

AMERICA  knows  least  of  what  is  most  American. 
Melting-pot  of  the  nations,  with  Europe's  and  Asia's 
dross  thrown  in  along  with  their  good  metal,  she  is  likely 
to  forget,  in  all  this  conglomerate,  the  base  of  the  alloy, 
which  made  the  nation  and  which  must  yet  preserve  it. 
In  the  providence  of  God  there  has  been  saved  to  America 
a  long  wedge  of  that  pure  metal  —  a  golden  wedge  of 
Ophir.  Stretching  from  North  to  South,  scarce  two 
hundred  miles  inland,  are  the  mountains  that  formed 
the  frontier  of  English  America  when  America  became 
a  nation.  These  mountains  are  filled  with  the  stock 
of  the  Revolution,  a  race  with  the  primitive  virtues 
that  won  our  liberties,  that  extended  our  borders,  that 
preserved  the  ideal  of  freedom  in  its  great  hour  of  trial. 

A  smattering  of  knowledge — gained  mostly  from  works 
of  fiction  —  has  the  American  public  of  this  great  moun- 
taineer race,  a  smattering  that  begets  more  of  idle  won- 
der and  vacant  amusement  than  of  honest  admiration 
and  symapthy.  Yet  the  Southern  mountaineer  is,  all 
in  all,  the  most  admirable  type  of  American.  Schooled 
to  simplicity,  not  lacking  in  vigor,  he  keeps  in  great  de- 
gree the  powers  that  preserve  nations,  powers  that  too 
many  of  our  people  are  losing  in  the  nerve-racking 
strain  of  our  unexampled  age.  What  of  opportunity 

886477  (3) 


4  Preface 

and  resource  the  tfou&iaineer  lacks  it  is  the  duty  of  more 
fortunate'  classes  to  supply.  It  is  a  duty  of  patriotism, 
and  above  all  a  duty  of  Christian  brotherhood. 

For  an  intelligent  application  of  this  aid  a  correct 
and  sympathetic  understanding  of  conditions  is  neces- 
sary. It  has  been  the  pleasure  of  a  few  of  the  mountain- 
eer's friends  to  help  give  this  understanding;  yet, 
compared  with  the  greater  number  of  doubtful  works 
that  exploit  chiefly  his  peculiarities  and  faults,  the  efforts 
of  these  friends  are  not  too  many  nor  too  great.  It  is, 
then,  with  some  confidence  of  need  that  this  present 
volume  is  put  forth,  containing  a  brief  account  of  the 
origin  and  history  of  the  Southern  mountaineer,  of  some 
of  the  most  representative  agencies  for  his  development, 
and  in  particular  of  one  widespread  system  that  seeks 
to  minister  to  the  needs  and  to  enlist  more  ministers. 

The  credit  for  the  initiation  and  successful  prosecu- 
tion of  the  work  on  this  book  is  due  to  Mrs.  Ellen  G.  White 
and  her  son,  William  C.  White.  Their  deep  and  prac- 
tical interest  in  the  cause  of  Christianity  in  the  South, 
evidenced  in  many  a  phase  and  field,  led  them  to  pro- 
pose such  a  work  as  this  and  to  make  possible  the  re- 
search and  effort  which  produced  it. 

Acknowledgment  is  also  gladly  given  of  the  aid  ren- 
dered by  the  teachers  of  the  Nashville  Agricultural  and 
Normal  Institute  and  of  the  smaller  schools  throughout 
the  South  affiliated  with  them,  as  also  of  the  assistance 
and  encouragement  of  friends  in  other  connections, 


Preface  5 

who  have  supplied  information,  corrected  manuscripts, 
and  given  cordial  support  to  the  enterprise. 

To  the  author  the  work  has  been  a  labor  of  love. 
Since,  when  a  boy,  his  lot  was  first  cast  among  the 
Southern  mountaineers,  his  interests  and  affections  have 
been  closely  entwined  with  theirs,  and  it  is  his  confident 
hope  that  this  book  shall  be  a  means  of  enlisting  many 
more  friends,  both  youth  and  those  in  the  prime  of  life, 
in  the  cause  of  the  mountaineer.  A.  w.  s. 

Hendersonville,  N.  (7., 
November,  1915. 


"THE  greatest  want  of  the  world  is  the  want  of 
men, — men  who  will  not  be  bought  or  sold;  men 
who  in  their  inmost  souls  are  true  and  honest;  men 
who  do  not  fear  to  call  sin  by  its  right  name;  men 
whose  conscience  is  as  true  to  duty  as  the  needle  to 
the  pole;  men  who  will  stand  for  the  right  though 
the  heavens  fall."  ELLEN  G.  WHITE. 


CONTENTS 


HIGHLANDS  AND  HIGHLANDERS 

CHAPTER  FAGB 

1.  THE  EXPLORERS 11 

2.  THE  PIONEERS 21 

3.  IN  TIMES  OF  WAR 32 

4.  EDUCATION  AND  RELIGION 48 

5.  THE  MODERN  MOUNTAINEER 61 

6.  THE  HEART  OF  APPALACHIA 79 

THE  VANGUARD  OF  THE  HELPERS 

7.  THE  PIONEER  SCHOOL 97 

8.  THE  PREMIER  OF  HOME  MISSIONS 108 

9.  REDEEMING  THE  TIME 116 

10.  COALS  FROM  THE  ALTAR 129 

A  BROTHERHOOD  OF  SERVICE 

11.  A  SCHOOL  OF  SIMPLICITY 149 

12.  LEARNING  TO  TEACH 160 

13.  THE  OUT-SCHOOL  MOVEMENT 166 

PIONEERING 

14.  ON  AN  OLD  FRONTIER 177 

15.  BEHIND  THE  BACK  OF  MAMMON 187 

16.  PREACHING  BY  HAND 197 

17.  SERMONS  IN  SOIL 206 

THE  MEDICAL   MISSIONARY 

18.  FOLLOWING  THE  GREAT  PHYSICIAN 221 

19.  THE  RURAL  SANITARIUM 227 

20.  THE  NURSE  AND  THE  MEDICAL  MISSIONARY 235 

SCHOOL  WORK 

21.  THE  SCHOOLS  OF  GOD 243 

22.  THE  MOUNTAIN  CHILD  AND  THE  WORLD 252 

23.  Vice  and  Victory 262 

COOPERATION 

24.  WHOSOEVER  Is  NOT  AGAINST  Us 279 

25.  THE  TIMES  OF  CHEER 285 

THE  HELP  OF  THE  HILLS 

26.  THE  TORCH-BEARER 297 

27.  A  CHOSEN  PEOPLE 307 

(7) 


IIXtJSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

THE  MAKER  OF  THE  HOME    Frontispiece 

BATTLE  OF  KING'S  MOUNTAIN 16 

ON  WATCH 31 

BAKER  MOUNTAIN  SCHOOL  AND  CHURCH 48 

RELIEF  MAP  OF  APPALACHIA 64 

OLD  AND  NEW , 78 

CROSSING  THE  BRANCH 93 

LINCOLN  MEMORIAL  UNIVERSITY 94 

CHAPEL,  BEREA  COLLEGE 97 

STUDENTS  AT  HIGHLAND  COLLEGE 112 

FIRST  CABIN,  AND  RECITATION  HALL,  BERRY  SCHOOL 129 

ONEIDA  INSTITUTE 144 

AN  ANCIENT  ART 146 

ON  MADISON  CAMPUS 160 

AT  FOUNTAIN  HEAD  SCHOOL 168 

NICKOJACK  CAVE 186 

SHOPS,  EUFOLA  ACADEMY 192 

A  NEW  INDUSTRY  208 

AT  COWEE  MOUNTAIN  SCHOOL 216 

EAGER  FOR  PROGRESS 226 

MADISON  RURAL  SANITARIUM 240 

PRIMITIVE  MOTIVE  POWER 251 

GOING  TO  MARKET 275 

IN  THE  SAPPHIRE  COUNTRY 276 

SELF-SUPPORTING  WORKERS'  CONVENTION 288 

A  KENTUCKY  HOMESTEAD  294 

A  FAMILY  REUNION 304 

(8) 


INTRODUCTION 


\TO  PART  of  the  United  States  is  more  interesting 
than  the  section  generally  known  as  the  Southern 
Appalachian  mountain  region,  the  upland  South.  In 
area  this  mountain  country,  together  with  the  hill  country 
immediatly  adjoining  it,  is  twice  as  large  as  all  New 
England.  It  is  rich  in  abundance  and  variety  of  natural 
resources,  genial  climate,  fertile  soils  adapted  to  a  very 
large  variety  of  fruits  and  field  and  garden  crops,  hard- 
wood forests,  waterpower,  iron,  coal,  oil,  zinc,  copper, 
marble,  granite  and  other  building  stones,  clays,  material 
for  concrete  and  other  raw  materials  for  the  most  im- 
portant and  valuable  standard  manufactured  products. 
The  people  of  the  country  are  of  the  purest  American 
stock,  if  indeed  we  may  speak  of  an  American  stock. 
They  are  almost  wholly  the  descendants  of  the  English, 
Scotch,  Scotch-Irish,  Germans,  and  French  Huguenots, 
who  settled  in  America  before  the  Revolution.  They 
are  a  hardy,  intelligent,  courageous,  self-reliant  people, 
as  is  well  shown  by  the  part  they  played  in  the  Revolution- 
ary War,  the  War  of  1812,  the  Indian  wars,  Mexican  War, 
and  on  both  sides  in  the  Civil  War.  Their  native  intel- 
ligence and  individualistic  tendencies  have  only  been 
accentuated  by  the  hardships  imposed  on  them  by  their 
environment,  their  isolation,  and  their  separation  into 
very  small  communities,  the  long  continued  pioneer 
conditions  under  which  they  still  live  after  such  conditions 

(a) 


Introduction 

have  passed  away  from  almost  all  parts  of  the  country. 
Away  from  the  routes  of  commerce  and  the  centers  of 
population,  these  people  may  be  backward  in  their 
industrial  and  commercial  development,  retarded  to 
such  an  extent  that  they  have  aptly  been  called  "our 
contemporary  ancestors,"  but  no  one  who  knows  them 
well  ever  thinks  of  them  as  weaklings  or  degenerates 
or  as  dull  or  as  slow  witted.  In  native  ability,  physical 
and  mental,  they  are  the  full  equals  of  any  people  in 
the  United  States — a  fact  proven  thousands  of  times 
by  the  sons  and  daughters  of  this  section  who  with  little 
preparation  from  the  schools  have  made  their  homes 
in  other  portions  of  the  country  and  have  come  in  close 
competition  with  other  peoples  in  all  the  industries  and 
professions. 

The  actual  wealth  of  this  section  is  small  as  compared 
with  other  sections;  but,  as  already  stated,  this  is  not 
because  of  paucity  of  natural  resources;  it  is  rather 
because  of  the  greater  difficulty  of  unlocking  the  treasure 
house  of  this  section  and  making  its  rich  stores  of  wealth 
available  for  use.  Some  day  this  will  be  one  of  the 
wealthiest  and  most  progressive  sections  of  the  United 
States,  and  these  people  in  their  own  home  land  will  be 
recognized  for  the  worth  of  their  sturdy  qualities. 

Knowing  this  section  and  its  people  intimately,  I 
am  convinced  that  their  greatest  need  is  in  good  schools 
adapted  to  their  conditions  —  schools  that  will  make 
them  intelligent  about  the  life  they  live;  that  will  teach 
them  what  they  need  to  know  to  enable  them  to  adjust 


Introduction 

themselves  to  their  environment  and  to  conquer  it; 
schools  that  will  appeal  to  children  and  grown  people 
alike;  schools  with  courses  of  study  growing  out  of  their 
daily  life  as  it  is  and  turning  back  into  it  a  better  and 
more  efficient  daily  living.  States,  churches,  benevolent 
societies,  and  individuals  are  now  trying  to  help  these 
people  to  establish  and  maintain  such  schools,  and  many 
interesting  experiments  in  education  can  be  found  here. 
Some  of  these  are  wise  and  successful  to  a  degree.  Others, 
in  which  the  necessary  fundamental  principles  have 
been  omitted,  are  doomed  to  failure.  All  the  world 
knows  of  some  of  the  larger  of  these  schools,  Berea 
College,  the  Burns  School,  and  others.  The  smaller 
schools  maintained  by  the  Seventh- day  Adventists, 
described  in  the  latter  part  of  this  book,  are  not  so  well 
known  by  the  outside  world.  Indeed,  they  are  hardly 
known  by  the  people  who  live  a  few  miles  away.  Yet 
a  careful  study  of  these  schools,  their  spirit  and  methods, 
their  accomplishments  and  the  hold  that  they  have  on 
the  people  of  the  communities  in  which  they  are  located, 
as  well  as  of  the  earnest  and  self-sacrificing  zeal  of  their 
teachers,  has  led  me  to  believe  that  they  are  better 
adapted  to  the  needs  of  the  people  they  serve  than  most 
other  schools  in  this  section.  They  have  discovered 
and  adapted  in  the  most  practical  way  the  vital  prin- 
ciples of  education  too  often  neglected. 

I  can  never  forget   the  summer  day  of   1913  when 
in  company  with  Dr.  Sutherland  and  Dr.  Magan,  of  the 

school  and  rural  sanitarium  at   Madison,  Tennessee,  I 

(c) 


Introduction 

first  visited  some  of  these  schools  and  learned  how  thor- 
oughly they  had  adapted  themselves  to  the  conditions 
and  needs  of  the  people.  I  am  sure  they  are  worthy 
of  the  most  careful  study  of  all  who  are  interested  in 
adapting  schools  of  whatever  kind  to  the  needs  of  the 
people  of  all  this  mountain  section  and  of  all  the  South- 
ern mountain  countries,  and  that  they  contain  valuable 
lessons  for  the  improvement  of  rural  schools  in  all  parts 
of  the  United  States. 

For  the  intelligent  and  sympathetic  account  of  the 
section  and  people  described,  and  for  the  interesting  and 
detailed  description  of  these  small  schools, — and  Madison, 
in  which  teachers  for  the  small  schools  are  prepared — 
this  book  has  unusual  value.  I  feel  sure  that  many 
others  will  find  in  reading  it  some  part  of  the  pleasure 
which  it  has  given  me.  I  commend  it  to  all  who  are 
interested  in  any  way  in  the  people  of  these  Southern 
highlands  and  in  helping  to  improve  their  opportuni- 
ties for  a  better  type  of  education. 


U.  S.  Commissioner  of  Education. 
Washington,  D.  C., 
Nov.   24,   1915 


Highlands  and  Hi 


"  To  THE  mountains,  in  time  to  come,  we  may 
look  for  great  men,  thinkers  as  well  as  workers, 
leaders  of  religious  and  poetic  thought,  and  states- 
men above  all."  EMMA  B.  MILES. 


THE  EXPLORERS 

THE  Englishmen  who  set  foot  upon  the  shores  of  wil- 
derness Virginia  in  the  seventeenth  century  found 
themselves  shut  up  against  the  sea  by  a  long  range  of 
mountains  in  the  west.  Seeking  a  clear  passage  through, 
they  might  wander  in  vain  far  toward  the  northern 
confines  of  Penn's  woods  and  deep  into  the  southern 
recesses  of  the  Carolina  grants.  Everywhere  the  un- 
known country  beyond,  which  they  sought  to  explore, 
was  shut  from  their  view  by  the  blue,  hazy,  sentinel 
line  of  those  mountains.  They  called  them  the  Blue 
Ridge. 

The  early  settlers  believed  that  these  mountains 
looked  out  upon  the  "  South  Seas."  The  blue  haze 
that  always  surmounted  them  seemed  proof  that  the 
ocean  with  its  mists  lay  just  beyond,  and  they  thought 
they  had  only  to  find  a  convenient  pass  to  enable  them 
to  embark  upon  a  voyage  to  the  Indies.  It  was  to  find 
such  a  pass  that  the  valiant  and  venturesome  John 
Smith,  seven  months  after  the  landing  at  Jamestown 
in  1607,  set  out  on  that  expedition  which  ended  in  his 
captivity  to  the  sour-looking  old  Powhatan,  and  — 
perhaps  —  in  his  rescue  from  death  by  the  tender- 
hearted Pocahontas. 

Sixty  miles  above  Jamestown,  Smith's  two  companions 
were  surprized  and  slain  by  Indians;  and  he  himself, 

(n) 


12  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

after  a  plucky  fight,  was  taken  captive  by  Opekan- 
kano,  the  brother  of  the  king.  He  saved  his  life  at  the 
moment  by  exhibiting  to  his  captor  his  mystifying  com- 
pass, and  following  up  the  effect  by  a  bewitching  "dis- 
course of  the  roundnes  of  the  earth  [and]  the  course 
of  the  sunne,  moone,  starres,  and  plannets."  The  sav- 
age loves  no  one  so  much  as  an  entrancing  liar,  and  evi- 
dently putting  Smith  in  this  catalog,  the  Indians  carried 
him  first  to  Opekankano's  town,  where  they  treated  him 
most  kindly.  Thereafter  he  was  taken  about  from  town 
to  town,  until  at  last  he  was  brought  to  the  chief  vil- 
lage of  the  Powhatans,  the  principal  member  of  a 
confederacy  of  the  coastal  tribes.  The  head  of  this 
confederacy  —  the  emperor,  as  Smith  styles  him  —  was 
also  the  chief  of  the  Powhatan  tribe,  and  was  himself 
called,  by  distinction,  "The  Powhatan."1 

Here  for  some  days  these  two  worthy  representa- 
tives of  the  white  and  the  red  races  sat  exchanging  their 
entertaining  tales,  each  solemnly  assuring  himself  — 
and  with  some  reason  —  that  the  other  believed  him. 
John  Smith  informed  his  Indian  majesty  that  the  white 
men,  being  defeated  in  battle  on  the  seas  by  then'  ene- 
mies the  Spaniards,  had  been  forced  to  fly  for  refuge 
into  the  red  man's  land,  and  then  were  compelled  to 
stay  there  by  the  leaking  of  then*  ship.  Further,  he  ex- 
plained, the  reason  of  his  expedition  up  the  river  was 
to  discover  the  way  to  the  salt  sea  on  the  other  side  of 
the  mountains,  for  there  his  father  had  had  a  child 
slain,  whose  death  they  intended  to  revenge. 

Not  to  be  outdone,  the  red  man,  "after  good  de- 
liberation," began  to  describe  that  same  country  upon 
the  salt  sea,  which  he  declared  lay  only  just  over  the 
mountains,  some  five,  or  six,  or  eight  days'  journey. 
So  exact  was  his  information  that  he  named  the  people 
who  had  slain  Smith's  supposititious  brother,  and  told 
of  their  relations  with  other  great  peoples  who  sailed 
the  seas.  One  of  these  was  a  man-eating  nation,  with 

»John  Fiske,  The  Colonization  of  the  New  World,  p.  246. 


The  Explorers  13 

shaven  crowns  and  long  queues,  and  "  Swords  like  Poll- 
axes."  Another  wore  short  coats  with  sleeves  to  the 
elbows,  and  went  in  great  ships  like  the  Englishmen. 
These  were  only  a  few  of  the  wonders;  for  there  were 
many  other  mighty  nations,  some  of  them  having  walled 
houses  and  plenty  of  brass.  At  last  the  king,  warming 
to  his  subject,  disclosed  the  information  that  his 
village  lay  but  one  day  and  a  half,  two  days,  and  six 
days  from  various  ports  upon  "the  south  part  of  the 
backe  sea." 

All  this  at  least,  along  with  his  safe  return  to  James- 
town, is  told  in  "  Captain  John  Smith's  True  Relation," 
published  in  1608,1  though  his  romantic  story  of  res- 
cue by  Pocahontas  he  did  not  put  forth  until  many  years 
later.  How  much  of  this  " relation"  of  the  great  " backe 
sea"  just  over  the  mountains  came  from  the  lips  of 
Powhatan,  and  how  much  from  John  Smith's  own  fer- 
tile brain,  we  may  not  know;  but  the  account  at  least 
explains  one  cause  of  the  world's  persistent  faith  in  the 
western  sea  lapping  the  lower  slopes  of  the  Appa- 
lachian chain. 

Smith,  for  the  two  years  he  remained  in  America, 
continued  active  in  his  efforts  to  find  a  passage  or  a 
path  to  the  South  Seas  through  those  mountains.  And 
not  Smith  alone;  for  there  were  many  to  whom  not 
merely  the  wealth  of  the  Indies,  but  the  very  real  ro- 
mance of  discovery,  appealed.  In  the  fall  of  1608  Cap- 
tain Christopher  Newport,  who  had  commanded  the 
expedition  which  founded  Jamestown,  and  who  had  since 
with  his  ships  kept  up  communication  between  England 
and  Virginia,  obeyed  the  injunctions  of  the  London 
Company  by  attempting  an  expedition  that  should 
pierce  the  mountains  to  the  seas.  He  succeeded,  how- 
ever, in  doing  no  more  than  to  penetrate  forty  miles 
above  the  village  of  the  Powhatan,  from  which  point 

1  American  History  Leaflets,  No.  27,  pp.  9-17;  Narratives  of  Early 
Virginia,  Tyler,  pp.  41-52;  Works  of  John  Smith,  edited  by  Arber,  pp. 
13-21. 


14  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

he  and  his  company  returned  worn  in  body  and  dis- 
appointed in  hopes.1 

The  ambition  of  the  London  Company,  far  more 
than  the  desire  of  the  sore-pressed  colonists,  inspired 
the  earliest  attempts  to  pass  the  mountains.  The  com- 
pany's commands  were  laid  upon  Captain  Newport, 
on  his  third  voyage,  never  to  return  to  England  without 
having  made  at  least  one  of  three  discoveries:  the  way 
to  the  South  Seas,  a  lump  of  gold,  or  a  white  man  from 
Raleigh's  lost  colony  on  Roanoke  Island.2 

Newport,  however,  was  compelled  to  return  without 
accomplishing  any  one  of  these  three  behests,  and  no 
doubt  his  explanation  of  his  failure  was  greatly  helped 
by  John  Smith's  accompanying  "Rude  Answer"  to  a 
letter  of  reproach  and  instruction  the  company  had 
sent  him.  In  this  spirited  statement  of  conditions, 
Smith  laid  stress  upon  the  need  of  establishing  a  firm 
basis  for  the  colony  by  the  sending  of  a  good  class  of 
settlers,  the  development  of  agriculture,  and  attention 
to  the  needs  and  requirements  of  the  colony,  rather 
than  to  the  immediate  enrichment  and  glory  of  the 
company.  For  a  time  thereafter,  while  curiosity  may 
not  have  lessened  concerning  the  blue  heights  to  the 
west,  and  what  they  might  be  hiding,  the  practical 


lAmos  Todkill  and  others,  in  "Description  of  Virginia  and  Proceed- 
ings of  the  Colonie,"  Tyler,  Narratives  of  Early  Virginia,  pp.  151,  155, 
156;  Works  of  John  Smith,  pp.  121,  124,  125. 

2Fiske,  Old  Virginia  and  Her  Neighbors,  p.  113;  Works  of  John  Smith, 

p.  121. 

Sir  Walter  Raleigh  was  the  first  to  attempt  English  colonization  in 
America.  He  sent  an  expedition,  of  men  only,  in  1585,  who  settled  on 
Roanoke  Island,  off  the  coast  of  North  Carolina.  These  men,  however, 
returned  within  a  year.  In  1587  Raleigh  sent,  under  the  command  of 
John  White,  a  better  equipped  company,  which  included  in  its  number 
seventeen  women.  This  company  likewise  settled  on  Roanoke  Island; 
and  here,  on  August  18,  was  born  the  first  English  white  child  on  Ameri- 
can soil,  Virginia  Dare.  White  returned  to  England  for  supplies,  only 
to  find  himself  in  the  midst  of  the  Spanish  war.  It  was  two  years  before 
he  could  return  to  the  infant  colony  in  America;  and  when  he  did  arrive, 
it  was  only  to  find  a  deserted  place.  And  though  search  was  made  for 
many  a  year  thereafter,  no  certain  trace  of  the  fate  of  this  first  and  un- 
fortunate colony  was  ever  found. 


The  Explorers  15 

energies  of  the  little  Virginia  colony  were  absorbed  in 
their  local  affairs. 

Through  the  next  quarter  century,  we  catch  a  note 
now  and  then  of  interest  and  enterprise  toward  the 
west.  In  1626  the  governor  and  council  of  Virginia 
wrote  the  English  government  desiring  that  provision 
be  made  for  exploring  the  mountain  country,  with  the 
hope  of  finding  passage  to  the  South  Seas.1  In  1641 
four  prominent  gentlemen  of  the  colony  applied  for  per- 
mission to  undertake  discoveries  to  the  southwest  of 
the  Appomattox  River.2  An  Indian  report  to  the  gov- 
ernor in  1648,  of  high  mountains,  beyond  which  were 
great  rivers  and  a  great  sea  to  which  came  red-capped 
men  in  ships,  almost  induced  an  expedition  thither.3 

The  governor  at  that  time  was  that  bluff,  enterpri- 
sing, grasping,  ruthless  British  gentleman,  William  Ber- 
keley. He  had  received  from  his  patron,  Charles  I,  a 
monopoly  of  the  fur  trade  in  the  English  colony;  and  as 
from  the  other  side  of  the  mountains  there  now  began 
to  come  not  only  furs,  but  Indians  with  wondrous  tales, 
Berkeley  grew  eager  to  open  a  route  to  the  over-moun- 
tain country.  Perhaps  it  would  launch  him  upon  the 
South  Seas  and  the  Indian  trade;  if  not,  there  was  profit 
as  great  in  buying  for  a  few  hatchets  and  handfuls  of 
beads,  beaver  and  fox  and  otter  furs  worth  thousands 
of  dollars. 

The  governor,  though  ever  upon  the  verge  of  going 
himself  to  view  that  good  land,  never  really  saw  even 
the  base  of  the  mountains;  but  from  1650  to  1670  he 
dispatched  or  authorized  several  expeditions  which, 
while  they  discovered  no  "backe  sea/'  did  open  to  the 
view  of  the  English  a  broader  field  and  a  wider  oppor- 
tunity than  the  South  Seas  could  ever  have  afforded 
them. 

There   lived  in  1650  at  Fort  Henry,4  on  the  York 

iAlvord  and  Bidgood,  The  First  Explorations  of  the  Trans- Alle- 
gheny Region  by  the  Virginians,  p.  45. 

8  Id.,  p.  28.         8Id.,  p.  46.          4Now  Petersburg,  Virginia. 


1 6  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

River,  a  captain  and  merchant  of  adventurous  disposi- 
tion by  the  name  of  Abraham  Wood.  A  servant  lad 
brought  over  from  England,  and  indentured1  to  a 
planter  for  the  payment  of  his  journey's  expense,  Abra- 
ham Wood  had  risen  step  by  step  until  he  was  one  of 
the  largest  landowners  in  the  colony,  and  a  principal 
dealer,  under  Berkeley,  in  the  fur  trade.3 

In  1650  this  Captain  Wood,  with  an  English  gentle- 
man named  Bland,  and  two  others,  with  white  servants 
and  an  Indian  guide,  made  the  first  notable  western  ex- 
ploration on  record  for  the  English.  Their  course  led 
them  southwesterly;  but  though  they  went  some  dis- 
tance into  Carolina,  they  did  not  reach  the  mountains; 
and  their  discovery,  supposedly,  of  a  "  westward  flowing 
river"  helped  for  a  brief  time  to  encourage  the  belief 
in  a  near-by  western  sea.3 

This  view  was  given  weight  by  the  fictions  of  another 
explorer,  who  actually  claimed  that,  in  the  region  of 
what  is  now  North  Carolina,  he  had  stood  upon  the 
shore  of  a  sea  that  stretched  westward  beyond  sight. 4 

This  man  was  a  German,  John  Lederer,  and  the 
statement  above  mentioned  is  from  his  account  of  his 
second  exploring  expedition.  On  a  former  trip  he  had 
won  the  distinction,  so  far  as  the  records  go,  of  being  the 
first  white  man  to  ascend  the  mountains.  In  this  work 
of  exploration  he  was  encouraged  and  probably  sent 
by  Governor  Berkeley.  Alone,  except  for  some  Indian 

lAn  "indentured  servant"  was  so  called  from  the  papers  which 
bound  him  to  a  stated  term  of  service.  Such  papers  were  usually  made 
in  duplicate,  the  two  copies  being  written  side  by  side  on  the  same  sheet, 
and  then  cut  apart  in  a  waved  or  indented  line,  for  identification.  Hence 
such  papers  were  called  "indentures." 

2  First  Explorations  of  the  Trans-Alleglieny  Region,  pp.  34  ff. 

'Id.,  pp.  47-51;  Discovery  of  New  Brittaine,  by  Bland,  reprinted 
in  Salley,  Narratives  of  Early  Carolina,  pp.  5  ff. 

4  First  Explorations  of  Trans-Allegheny  Region,  pp.  160,  161. 

John  Lederer's  account  of  his  southwestern  travels,  published  in 
1672,  is  reprinted  in  the  above  named  work.  It  might  be  possible,  with 
a  little  imagination,  as  one  of  his  editors  proves,  to  harmonize  Lederer's 
accounts  with  geographical  facts,  supposing  that  he  understates  his 
distances  and  perhaps  his  time,  and  that  he  actually  reached  Florida 
and  the  Gulf;  but  such  an  interpretation  is  rejected  by  Alvord  and  Bidgood. 


The  Explorers  17 

guides,  Lederer  set  out  in  1669,  and  after  nine  days  of 
travel  reached  the  foot  of  the  Blue  Ridge.  It  took  him 
a  whole  day  to  climb  the  mountain;  and  then,  though 
he  imagined,  from  the  deceiving  mists  to  the  eastward, 
that  he  could  see  the  Atlantic  Ocean,  his  eye  searched 
in  vain  to  the  west;  for  there  he  beheld,  instead  of  the 
great  South  Sea,  nothing  but  a  sea  of  mountains. 1 

There  followed,  in  1670,  his  second  expedition  to 
the  southwest,  already  mentioned;  and  a  third,  in  the 
latter  part  of  the  same  year,  in  which  he  and  ten  other 
white  men  reached  again  the  crest  of  the  Blue  Ridge 
at  another  point,  only  to  view  the  discouraging  height 
of  the  great  North  Mountain,  far  up  and"  across  the 
valley.  Not  yet  was  the  mystery  of  the  mountains 
solved. 

Governor  Berkeley  next  turned  to  that  Captain 
(now  Major-General)  Abraham  Wood  whose  first  ef- 
forts we  have  seen,  and  commissioned  him  to  make  an 
attempt  to  "goe  further  in  the  discovry."  Abraham 
Wood  responded,  not  by  personally  heading  an  expe- 
dition—  for  he  was  now,  perhaps,  too  greatly  busied 
with  his  growing  affairs  —  but  by  fitting  out  a  party 
under  Captain  Thomas  Batts,  with  Robert  Fallam,  two 
other  white  men,  and  an  Appomattox  chief  named  Pere- 
cute.  They  were  later  joined  by  several  other  Indians 
of  the  same  tribe.  It  is  possible  that  Abraham  Wood 
himself  had  before  this  crossed  the  mountains,  but  the 
evidence  thereof  is  too  vague  to  make  it  certain,2  and 
so  far  as  records  go,  Batts  and  Fallam  have  the  distinc- 
tion of  being  the  first  to  reach  the  waters  of  the  Ohio. 3 

Captain  Batts  and  his  party  crossed  the  Blue  Ridge, 
and  entered  the  upper  part  of  the  Shenandoah  Valley 
near  the  site  of  the  present  city  of  Roanoke.  A  few  miles 

lld.,  pp.  64,  145  ff. 

2 See  First  Explorations  of  Trans-Allegheny  Region,  pp.  52-55;  Collins, 
History  of  Kentucky,  p.  805 ;  Shaler,  History  of  Kentucky,  p.  59. 

» This  expedition  of  Captain  Batts  and  his  party  has  received  scant 
notice  in  American  histories.  If  not  in  extent,  at  least  in  significance, 
it  should  rank  with  the  journeys  of  La  Salle  and  Marquette;  for  by  it  the 
2 


1 8  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

south  of  this  they  crossed  the  divide,  and  entered  the 
valley  of  a  river  flowing  northward,  which  they  followed 
to  the  present  borders  of  the  State  of  Virginia,  at  Peters 
Falls. 1  At  this  point,  their  provisions  having  all  been 
spent  for  some  days,  and  game  being  hard  to  get,  their 
Indian  guides  insisted  on  turning  back.  They  were  also 
doubtless  influenced  by  the  nearness  to  a  great  and 
fierce  tribe  of  Indians  living  to  the  north  and  west, 
"on  the  Great  Water,  and  [who]  made  salt."3  These 
were  probably  the  Shawnees,  and  their  salt  works  were 
at  the  numerous  "salt  licks"  plentiful  in  Kentucky, 
though  the  Shawnees  lived  north  of  the  Ohio  River, 
and  only  made  short  forays  into  Kentucky. 

Batts  and  Fallam,  before  they  retreated,  made  simple 
but  solemn  proclamation  that  King  Charles  of  England 
owned  these  waters  and  the  lands  wherethrough  they 
flowed,  and  they  branded  five  trees  with  the  initials 
and  signs  of  Charles,  Berkeley,  Wood,  and  themselves. 
As  they  lingered  upon  a  height,  and  cast  their  eyes  west- 
ward, they  were  persuaded  that  they  saw,  "westerly, 
over  a  certain  delightful  hill,  a  fog  arise,  and  a  glimmer- 
ing light  as  from  water,"  and  "supposed  there  to  be  a 
great  bay."  Not  yet  had  the  myth  of  the  "backe  sea" 
lost  its  charm.  It  was  considerably  later,  no  doubt, 
before  the  reports  of  the  Indians,  the  investigations 

English  were  given  such  right  as  discovery  bestows  to  claim  the  over- 
mountain  country  for  their  king  and  nation.  But  so  little  known  have 
been  the  sources  of  this  history,  and  so  garbled  the  account  by  some 
early  historians,  that  the  foremost  American  authorities  have  either  ig- 
nored it  or  mentioned  it  only  to  dismiss  it  as  unreliable.  Kven  Captain 
Thomas  Batts'  name  has  undergone  wondrous  transformations  in  the 
pages  of  his  few  chroniclers,  from  "Henry  Batte"  (his  brother)  in  Beverly's 
"Virginia,"  p.  62,  to  "Bolt"  in  Shaler's  "Kentucky,"  p.  59,  and  "Bolton" 
in  Parkman's  "La  Salle  and  the  Discovery  of  the  Great  West,"  p.  5. 
In  a  recent  and  most  valuable  work,  the  sources  for  the  history  of  this 
expedition,  as  of  other  early  English  explorations,  have  been  gathered 
and  placed  in  the  hands  of  the  public:  "  First  Explorations  of  the  Trans- 
Allegheny  Region"  by  C.  W.  Alvord  and  Lee  Bidgood,  Arthur  Clark 
Company,  Cleveland,  1912. 

1  First  Explorations  of  the  Allegheny  Region,  p.   192,  footnote. 

By  them  this  river  was  named  Wood  River.  It  is  now  known  in 
the  upper  part  as  New  River,  and  in  the  lower  as  the  Kanawha. 

«/</.,  p.    198. 


The  Explorers  19 

of  farther-going  explorers,  and  the  accounts  of  the  French 
upon  the  Mississippi  and  the  western  plains  made  clear 
the  immense  distance  at  which  lay  the  Pacific,  that 
great  "backe  sea." 

When  Batts  and  Fallam  returned,  Governor  Ber- 
keley, excited  by  their  report,  renewed  at  once  his 
oft-thwarted  intention  of  heading  an  expedition  to  the 
mountains.  But  he  was  just  at  this  tune  given  sufficient 
employment  nearer  home  by  a  discontented  people,  who, 
under  a  certain  well-remembered  Nathaniel  Bacon,  rose 
up  in  the  first  insurrection  of  an  America  that  would 
be  free.  The  exciting  cause  of  Bacon's  Rebellion  was  the 
unpunished  outrages  of  the  Indians,  who  had  grown 
hostile.  Their  attitude  shut  off  the  West  for  a  tune 
from  the  Englishmen;  and  while  it  is  possible  that  there 
were  some  venturesome  hunters  and  traders  who  pene- 
trated the  mountains,  yet,  so  far  as  records  go,  the  mat- 
ter of  western  exploration  rested  for  half  a  century. 

In  1716  Alexander  Spottswood,  then  the  energetic 
governor  of  Virginia,  roused  both  by  love  of  adventure 
and  the  fear  of  the  encroaching  Frenchman  in  the  West, 
determined  to  take  a  step  toward  occupying  that  ram- 
part of  the  mountains  which  separated  his  people  from 
their  foes.  With  a  gay  cavalcade  of  fifty  Virginia  gen- 
tlemen, as  many  black  servants,  an  unknown  number 
of  "rangers,  pioneers,  and  Indians,"  and  a  train  of  pack 
horses  to  carry  his  equipage  and  his  wines,  the  governor 
set  out  from  Williamsburg,  the  capital,  and  hi  late  Au- 
gust or  early  September  crossed  the  Blue  Ridge  at 
Swift  Run  Gap. 

With  due  formality,  Spottswood,  arriving  at  the  bank 
of  the  Shenandoah  River,  took  possession  of  the  valley 
in  the  name  of  his  king,  burying  there  hi  an  empty  flask 
a  paper  witnessing  thereto.  Then  the  happy  party  of 
gentlemen  went  back  home,  to  boast  to  their  descend- 
ants of  this  doughty  and  inspiring  deed,  and  of  their  en- 
trance thereby  into  "The  Order  of  the  Horseshoe." 
Their  horses,  accustomed  to  bare  feet  on  the  soft  soil 


2o  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

of  the  lowlands,  had  been  shod  as  a  protection  against 
the  rocky  ground  of  the  mountains;  and  to  commemo- 
rate the  lesser  with  the  greater  fact,  Spottswood  pre- 
sented to  each  of  his  gentlemen  companions  a  golden 
horseshoe,  set  with  precious  stones  for  nailheads,  and 
bearing  the  legend,  "Sic  yuvat  transcendere  monies": 
"Thus  it  is  a  pleasure  to  cross  the  mountains." 

But  Spottswood's  expedition,  agreeable  as  it  was 
made  to  be,  was  not  merely  a  pleasure  jaunt.  The  clear- 
sighted and  enterprising  governor  had  been  looking  with 
troubled  eyes  at  the  progress  of  the  French  along  the 
Great  Lakes  and  southward.  The  English  were  as 
yet  but  a  little  fringe  along  the  seacoast.  More  inclined 
to  build  solidly  than  to  venture  daringly,  they  were  al- 
lowing French  influence  to  outrun  them  in  the  Mis- 
sissippi Basin;  and,  as  Spottswood  clearly  saw,  unless 
they  should  at  least  occupy  the  mountain  passes  before 
the  French  should  reach  them,  their  seaboard  colonies 
would  be  at  the  mercy  of  their  rivals.  The  governor 
pointed  out  these  facts  to  the  king's  court,  and  offered 
to  conduct  an  expedition,  not  only  to  secure  the  moun- 
tains, but  to  establish  a  post  upon  Lake  Erie.  While 
his  suggestion  was  not  acted  upon,  English  minds  were 
from  this  time  on  more  fully  occupied  with  securing 
first  the  mountains  and  afterwards  the  over-mountain 
country. 

The  Appalachian  system  had  done  a  very  distinct 
service  to  the  English,  by  shutting  them  up  against  the 
sea.  It  kept  them  close  enough  together  to  grow  strong 
and  capable,  while  the  French  were  stretching  their 
thin  line  from  the  St.  Lawrence  to  the  Gulf.  And  when 
the  struggle  for  America  began  in  good  earnest,  the 
English  had  the  advantage  of  a  good  base  from  which 
to  launch  then-  attacks  upon  the  exposed  French  terri- 
tory. Other  and  greater  causes  there  were  for  the  Eng- 
lish successes,  which  made  America  Anglo-Saxon  and 
Protestant  instead  of  Latin  and  Catholic,  yet  the  moun- 
tains had  no  small  part  to  play  in  that  great  drama. 


II 

THE  PIONEERS 

IT  WAS  sixteen  years  after  Spottswood's  expedition 
before  there  came  permanent  settlers  to  the  moun- 
tain country.  Where  the  torrent  of  the  Potomac  breaks 
through  the  Blue  Ridge  at  Harper's  Ferry,  there  is 
formed  a  natural  passage  that  leads  into  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  and  fertile  valleys  in  America,  the  fa- 
mous Shenandoah,  or  valley  of  Virginia.  This  valley 
lies  between  the  Blue  Ridge  and  the  ranges  of  the  Alle- 
ghenies.  Its  lower  end  is  bounded  by  the  Potomac, 
though  its  counterpart  on  the  northern  side  of  the  river 
runs  up  through  Maryland  into  Pennsylvania.  The 
valley  is  drained  by  the  Shenandoah  River,  a  principal 
affluent  of  the  Potomac. 

In  1832  sixteen  families  from  Pennsylvania,  whose 
names  indicate  that  they  pretty  well  represented  the 
mixed  character  of  the  population  the  valley  was  to 
receive, 1  hewed  their  way  through  the  woods  to  the 
Potomac,  and  about  two  miles  above  Harper's  Ferry 
passed  over  as  the  first  settlers  to  enter  the  valley  of 
Virginia.3  The  next  few  years  saw  a  rapid  increase  in 
the  number  of  emigrants,  chiefly  from  Pennsylvania, 
though  tidewater  Virginia,  Maryland,  New  Jersey,  New 

1  The  names  given  are  Joist  Hite,  George  Bowman,  Jacob  Chris- 
man,  Paul  Froman,  Robert  McKay,  Robert  Green,  William  Duff,  and 
Peter  Stephens. 

2Kercheval,  History  of  the  Valley  of  Virginia,  p.  45. 

(21) 


22  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

York,  and  various  countries  of  Europe  helped  not  a  little 
to  swell  the  tide.  The  great  majority  of  these  first  im- 
migrants were  Germans,  or  "  Pennsylvania  Dutch,"  who 
in  religion  were  chiefly  Lutherans,  Calvinists,  and  Men- 
nonites,  with  a  few  Dunkers,  the  last  two  being  Bap- 
tist bodies.1  Many  Quakers  also  entered  the  valley; 
and  English  Baptists,  when  they  began  to  arrive,  about 
1745,  were  so  zealous  in  spreading  their  doctrines  that, 
with  the  later  Methodists,2  they  became  in  tune  the 
predominant  religious  influence. 

Of  all  nationalities,  however,  the  Scotch-Irish  were 
most  deeply  to  influence  the  character  of  the  valley  and 
the  mountain  population.  These  people  with  the  com- 
pound name  were  in  blood  almost  pure  Scotch.  The 
last  part  of  their  name  was  derived  from  the  residence 
of  then-  people  for  two  or  three  generations  in  the  north 
of  Ireland,  during  which  tune  they  received  but  very 
slight  infusion  of  Irish  blood,  but  not  a  little  of  Irish 
influence.3  They  were  Presbyterian  in  religion,  demo- 
cratic in  spirit,  enterprising  and  thrifty  in  business; 
and  these  qualities  subjected  them  to  the  opposition 
of  the  bishops,  the  king,  and  the  merchants  of  Eng- 
land. In  the  early  years  of  the  eighteenth  century, 
the  difficulties  of  then-  situation  in  Ireland  began 
to  drive  them  from  their  homes  there,  to  seek  lib- 
erty in  the  New  World.  They  came  by  the  tens  of 
thousands,  some  to  Boston,  more  to  Charleston,  but 
most  of  all  to  Philadelphia.  From  this  latter  place  they 
were  dispersed  throughout  the  back  parts  of  Pennsylvania; 
then,  following  southwestward  the  trend  of  the  moun- 
tains, they  poured  into  the  valley  of  Virginia,  the  pied- 
mont and  highlands  of  North  Carolina,  and  the  valley 
of  the  Tennessee.  From  thence  they  filled  the  moun- 
»/<*.,  p.  56. 

'The  first  Methodist  preachers  came  into  the  valley  in  1775. — 
Id.,  p.  62. 

•Fiske,  Old  Virginia  and  her  Neighbors,  pp.  391,  392;  Bolton,  Scotch- 
Irish  Pioneers,  pp.  1-4,  294-300;  Henry  Cabot  Lodge,  art.  "Distribution 
of  Ability  in  the  United  States,"  Century  Magazine,  September,  1891, 


The  Pioneers  23 

tains  and  poured  over  upon  the  western  plains.  They 
soon  greatly  outnumbered  the  Germans,  and  for  a  long 
tune,  if  not  always,  exceeded  the  settlers  of  English 
extraction.  It  is  estimated  that  one-third  of  all  the 
Scotch-Irish  in  Ireland  emigrated  to  America.1  Be- 
sides the  Scotch-Irish,  there  were,  it  seems,  not  a  few 
of  the  true  Irish  and  of  Scotch  from  Scotland,  who 
were  easily  mixed  and  easily  confounded  with  the  Scotch- 
Irish,  all  of  them  being  Celts. 

In  the  valley  of  Virginia  there  was  for  a  generation 
a  lively  state  of  things  between  the  sturdy  Germans 
and  the  Irish,  the  latter  assisted,  little  doubt,  by  the 
Scotch-Irish  and  the  English.  No  one  could  deny  the 
thrift  and  ability  of  the  "  Dutch,"  with  their  fine  big 
barns,  their  fat  flocks  and  herds,  their  overflowing 
garners,  and  their  heaped-up  feather  beds.  And  though 
their  more  lively  Celtic  neighbors  might  find  a  narrow 
toe-hold  for  ridicule  of  their  slow-witted  men  and  their 
broad-waisted,  barefooted  women,  they  could  not  do 
better  than  imitate  the  steadfastness  of  the  one  and  the 
housewifely  virtues  of  the  other. 

But  when  these  races  came  together  in  the  first  town 
of  the  valley,  Winchester,  their  "national  prejudices," 
says  the  old  historian,  "  promised  much  disorder  and 
many  riots.  It  was  customary  for  the  Dutch  on  St. 
Patrick's  Day  to  exhibit  the  effigy  of  the  saint  with  a 
string  of  Irish  potatoes  around  his  neck,  and  his  wife 
Sheeley  with  her  apron  loaded  also  with  potatoes.  This 
was  always  followed  by  a  riot.  The  Irish  resented  the 
indignity  offered  to  their  saint  and  his  holy  spouse, 
and  a  battle  followed.  On  St.  Michael's  Day  the  Irish 
would  retort,  and  exhibit  the  saint  with  a  rope  of  sauer- 
kraut about  his  neck."  Then  the  Germans  would  take 
up  the  challenge,  "and  many  a  black  eye,  bloody  nose, 
and  broken  head  was  the  result." 

At  first  the  settlers  were  peacefully  received  by  the 

iBolton,  Scotch-Irish  Pioneers,  p.  7. 

2Kercheval,  History  of  the  Valley  of  Virginia,  p.  179. 


24  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

Indians.  The  reputation  of  William  Penn  was  high, 
and  the  red  man  supposed  that  whoever  came  from 
Penn's  colony  must  be  of  the  same  character  as  himself. 
They  therefore  welcomed  the  immigrants  from  the 
north.  But  of  the  Virginians,  whom  they  called  the 
"Long  Knives,"  they  held  a  very  different  opinion. 
Then:  race  had  been  exterminated  in  the  land  of  the 
"Long  Knives,"  and  it  was  fortunate  for  the  mountain 
settlements  that  the  Indians  saw  the  majority  of  the 
invaders  coming  from  the  land  of  the  Quaker  rather 
than  of  the  Cavalier. 

When  at  last  the  Indians,  after  the  defeat  of  Brad- 
dock  in  1755,  determined  to  make  war  on  the  mountain 
settlers,  they  found  them  too  well  entrenched  to  be 
driven  out.  And  though  the  usual  horrors  of  frontier 
warfare  were  endured  by  the  whites,  they  succeeded 
in  keeping  their  place  in  the  country. 

Here  George  Washington  received  some  of  his  ear- 
liest training  in  command  and  warfare.  This  young 
man,  just  past  his  majority,  had  become  famous  in  the 
operations  against  the  French  in  the  West,  and  he  was 
now  placed  in  charge  of  the  defense  of  the  frontier. 
In  spite  of  the  terror  and  confusion  of  the  valley  dwellers, 
and  in  spite  of  official  delay  and  neglect,  Washington 
succeeded  in  meeting  the  necessities  of  the  case,  and 
crowned  his  efforts  in  the  autumn  of  1758  by  entering 
at  the  head  of  his  men  the  nesting  place  of  the  French 
and  Indian  terror,  Fort  Duquesne. 

Thus  was  "the  father  of  his  country"  identified  with 
the  early  history  of  the  mountain  people.  Several  years 
before  this,  he  had  become  well  acquainted  with  their 
country,  when,  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  he  was  employed 
by  Lord  Thomas  Fairfax  to  survey  his  extensive  hold- 
ings in  the  valley.  That  world-weary  old  English  no- 
bleman had  settled  here  in  the  wilderness  as  a  refuge 
from  disappointed  love  and  hopes.  His  haughty  tem- 
per and  his  immense  holdings,  which  sometimes  con- 
flicted with  his  neighbor's  rights,  made  him  none  too 


The  Pioneers  25 

popular  with  them.  But  he  brought  around  him  a  very 
considerable  settlement  of  English  from  tidewater  Vir- 
ginia, and  in  his  manor  of  Greenway  Court  held  a  sort 
of  feudal  authority  that  made  the  chief  distinction  and 
almost  the  chief  discontent  of  the  democratic  valley. 

Lord  Fairfax  formed  a  deep  attachment  to  the 
young  Washington,  and  bestowed  upon  him  as  the  re- 
ward of  his  surveying,  a  large  tract  of  land,  to  which 
Washington  in  later  years  added  much  by  purchase. 
Through  the  interest  thus  created,  Washington  became 
deeply  responsible  for  the  later  development  of  this 
mountain  country. 

As  the  lower  part  of  the  Shenandoah  became  set- 
tled the  later  immigrants  passed  on  to  the  southwest, 
the  upper  part  of  the  valley,  which  there  grows  higher 
and  more  broken.  These  immigrants,  mostly  Scotch- 
Irish,  formed  what  was  known  as  the  Backwater 
Settlements;  that  is,  the  settlements  on  the  back-  or  head- 
waters of  the  streams.  Though  this  part  of  the  depres- 
sion between  the  Blue  Ridge  and  the  western  ranges  is 
crossed  and  broken  by  ridges  and  hills,  it  does  not  lose 
wholly  the  character  of  a  valley,  and  after  the  divide 
is  passed,  south  of  the  present  city  of  Roanoke,  the  coun- 
try again  rapidly  broadens  into  the  valley  of  the  Ten- 
nessee. It  was  through  this  natural  gateway  that  the 
western  part  of  the  mountain  country  was  chiefly  set- 
tled. 

While  the  Shenandoah  Valley  was  filling  up  with 
settlers  and  pouring  the  surplus  over  into  the  Ten- 
nessee, another  source  of  population  was  forming  near 
the  mountains  in  North  Carolina.  This  colony  received 
the  most  of  her  population,  not  from  her  seacoast  (for 
she  had  no  good  ports),  but  from  Virginia  on  the  one 
side  and  South  Carolina  on  the  other.  From  the  latter 
colony  there  came  up  into  North  Carolina  not  a  few 
settlers,  some  English  and  Scotch-Irish  and  many  Hu- 
guenots —  French  Protestants  who  had  fled  from  the 
persecutions  of  Louis  XIV.  On  the  other  side,  from 


26  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

Virginia,  partly  through  the  valley  and  partly  from  the 
lowlands,  there  poured  into  the  middle  part  of  North 
Carolina  a  stream  of  the  sturdiest  kind  of  settlers,  men 
of  little  wealth  for  the  most  part,  but  of  good  bone 
and  sinew  and  of  independent  mind.  Virginia's  landed 
aristocracy,  with  their  slaves,  left  small  place  in  the  low- 
lands for  the  poor  man,  and  the  back  counties  of  North 
Carolina  offered  such  men  a  refuge  and  an  opportunity. 
The  settlers  were  largely  Scotch-Irish  Presbyterians, 
English  Quakers,  and  German  Baptists.  Forsythe, 
Rowan,  and  Mecklenburg  counties,  stretching  north 
and  south  across  the  State,  midway  east  and  west, 
came  by  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century  to  hold 
that  independent  class  of  citizens  that  first  resisted 
British  tyranny  and  both  in  word  and  deed  preceded 
the  Massachusetts  and  Virginia  patriots  in  striking 
for  liberty.1 

The  larger  part  of  the  mountains  and  plateaus  in 
western  North  Carolina  was  held  by  the  Cherokee 
Indians,  the  fiercest  of  the  Southern  tribes,  and  that 
country  was  late  in  being  settled.  But  some  venture- 
some pioneers  began  to  settle  in  the  northernmost  parts. 
Here,  in  what  is  now  Watauga  County,  there  came  to 
live,  in  1750,  a  family  of  Quakers  by  the  name  of  Boone. 
There  is  still  standing,  near  the  county-seat,  the  black- 
ened stone  chimney  of  the  cabin  of  one  of  the  sons, 
Daniel  Boone,  best  known  and  most  worthy  represen- 
tative of  the  hunters,  explorers,  and  frontiersmen  of  that 
day.  He  well  deserves  the  fame  that  has  come  down 
with  his  name.  Though  one  of  the  most  enterprising 
and  tireless  of  frontiersmen,  Daniel  Boone,  true  to  his 

1  The  Mecklenburg  Declaration,  adopted  by  a  midnight  convention 
in  Charlotte,  N.  C.,  May  20,  1775,  preceded  the  national  Declaration 
of  Independence  by  over  a  year.  It  declared  the  people  of  Meck- 
lenburg County  free  and  independent  from  the  British  crown.  It  was 
inspired  by  the  same  causes  that  were  stirring  the  whole  country,  but 
its  early  boldness  shows  the  influence  of  the  free  frontier  life. 

Even  earlier  than  the  Mecklenburg  Declaration  was  a  similar  pro- 
nouncement made  by  the  men  of  the  Virginia  backwater  districts,  at 
Abingdon,  Va.,  in  January,  1775. 


The  Pioneers  27 

Quaker  training,  was  a  peace-loving  man.  Daring 
oftentimes,  but  never  reckless,  modest  and  peaceable, 
but  restless  and  enterprising,  he  kept  ever  in  the  van  of 
the  western  settlers,  until  he  died,  at  the  age  of  eighty- 
six,  on  the  other  side  of  the  Mississippi,  still  on  the 
western  border  of  civilization. 

At  the  age  of  eighteen,  Daniel  Boone  married  his 
seventeen-year-old  bride,  and  for  seven  years,  pressed 
with  the  cares  of  a  growing  family,  he  played  the  per- 
fect part  of  a  quiet  Quaker  farmer,  a  life  varied  only 
by  an  occasional  trip  to  the  coastal  towns  as  a  wagoner 
and  by  the  annual  hunt  that  replenished  the  winter 
larder.  But  in  1759  the  Cherokee  Indians,  who  had 
watched  with  jealous  eyes  the  steady  encroachments 
of  the  whites  upon  their  mountain  lands,  broke  in  upon 
the  border  settlements  with  tomahawk  and  torch,  and 
the  times  of  blood,  of  unrest,  and  of  adventure  began. 

Two  years  of  war,  in  which  Daniel  Boone  bore  his 
part,  bought  peace  from  the  conquered  Cherokees. 
Boone  had  during  this  time  become  somewhat  acquainted 
with  the  upper  part  of  the  Tennessee  River  country, 
and  had  made  several  hunting  trips  thither  from  his 
North  Carolina  home.  It  was  on  one  of  these  trips, 
while  gazing  from  a  mountaintop  upon  a  herd  of  buf- 
falo beneath,  that  he  is  said  to  have  exclaimed,  "I  am 
richer  than  the  man  mentioned  in  Scripture,  who  owned 
the  cattle  on  a  thousand  hills:  I  own  the  wild  beasts  of 
more  than  a  thousand  valleys!"  It  is  safe  to  say  that, 
despite  his  Quaker  training,  he  was  unacquainted  with 
the  identity  of  the  "man  mentioned  in  Scripture,"  or 
he  would  scarcely  have  made  such  a  boast;  but  the  ex- 
clamation reveals  his  delight  in  the  wild  and  wide  free- 
dom which  the  wilderness  gave  him. 

In  May,  1769,  Boone,  with  five  neighbors  and  a 
trapper  guide,  John  Finley,  undertook  the  journey  to 
Kentucky  through  Cumberland  Gap,  famed  as  the  great 
gateway  for  Indian  war  and  hunting  parties,  and  for 
settlers'  caravans  and  armies  yet  to  come. 


28  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

Then  begins  the  most  romantic  portion  of  Boone's 
life.  Sometimes  alone,  sometimes  with  but  one  com- 
panion, sometimes  with  more,  hunting,  watching,  dodg- 
ing Indian  war  parties,  once  captured  and  hardly  es- 
caping with  life,  after  two  years  he  returned  home  to 
bring  his  family  from  the  Yadkin  to  the  Blue-grass 
country.  In  1773  a  company  started  with  him,  in- 
cluding his  own  and  several  other  families,  among  them 
the  first  women  to  dare  the  dangers  of  the  journey  to 
the  plains  of  Kentucky.  But  the  party  was  stopped 
by  an  Indian  attack  in  the  upper  valley  of  the  Tennessee, 
a  circumstance  which  decided  his  more  timid  com- 
panions to  remain  for  a  while  where  they  were,  in  the 
midst  of  the  mountain  settlements.  It  was  nearly  two 
years  before  Boone  saw  his  family,  with  some  others, 
settled  in  the  Blue-grass  of  Kentucky.  With  this  event 
he  passes  for  the  most  part  out  of  the  life  of  the  moun- 
tains.1 

Another  man  there  was  who  came  to  the  valley  of 
the  Tennessee  as  soon  as  Boone,  and  who  bore  a  large 
part  in  the  development,  first  of  the  mountain  country, 
and  later  of  middle  Tennessee.  This  was  James  Robert- 
son, who  in  1769  traveled  with  Boone  from  the  settle- 
ments on  the  Yadkin  over  the  mountains  to  the  Wa- 
tauga  Old  Fields,  in  the  northeastern  corner  of  what  is 
now  Tennessee.  He  found  there  the  cabins  of  William 
Bean,  the  first  settler  in  the  Tennessee  Valley,3  and  of 
one  Honeycut,  with  whom  he  stayed  during  the  summer 
and  raised  a  crop  of  corn.  In  the  autumn,  Robertson 
started  back  alone  to  bring  his  family  and  friends.  He 
carried  his  provisions  on  his  horse's  back  —  a  sack  of 
parched  corn  mixed  with  maple  syrup,  to  be  supple- 
mented by  the  game  he  might  find  along  the  way.  There 
was  no  road,  not  even  a  trail,  and  he  must  keep  his  course 
by  the  sun  and  the  woodman's  signs.  But  for  days  the 

1  See  Life  of  Boone,  Bruce,  Ellis,  Thwaites,  and  others. 
'Ramsey,  The  Annals  of  Tennessee,  p.  94. 


The  Pioneers  29 

sky  was  overcast,  and  he  lost  his  way  in  the  Iron  Moun- 
tains. Coming  to  a  precipice  down  which  he  could  not 
lead  his  horse,  he  was  compelled  to  turn  him  loose. 
His  provisions  were  at  last  all  gone,  and  his  powder  was 
spoiled.  For  fourteen  days  he  wandered  without  food, 
until,  completely  exhausted,  he  fell  at  the  foot  of  some 
cliffs  in  a  dying  condition.  He  was  roused  from  his 
stupor  at  last  by  the  sound  of  voices,  as,  guided  by  an 
unseen  hand,  two  hunters  —  the  only  persons,  perhaps, 
in  all  that  trackless  wilderness  —  came  directly  to  where 
he  lay.  They  revived  him,  nursed  him  for  several  days, 
and  then,  giving  him  some  of  their  provisions,  they  set 
him  upon  his  way,  and  he  reached  his  home  on  the 
Yadkin  in  safety.1  A  few  weeks  later  he  led  a  con- 
siderable body  of  settlers  over  the  mountains  to  the 
Watauga  settlement,  with  which  he  was  for  ten  years 
identified  as  a  leader  and  counselor,  before  going  on  into 
the  West.  He  was  much  like  Boone  in  character,  peace- 
able and  humble,  but  he  had  less  of  the  roving  spirit 
and  was  far  more  practical  and  capable.  As  the  Ten- 
nessee Valley  became  more  thickly  populated,  he 
relinquished  to  his  abler  friend,  John  Sevier,  the  leader- 
ship of  the  colony,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  American 
Revolution  headed  an  expedition  farther  to  the  west, 
where  on  the  Cumberland  River  he  became  the  founder 
of  Nashville,  the  present  capital  of  the  State  of  Ten- 
nessee.2 With  John  Sevier  he  is  counted  the  chief  founder 
of  Tennessee,  as  Boone  and  the  Shelbys  are  of  Kentucky, 
and  Clark  of  Indiana  and  Illinois. 

iGilmore,  Rear  Guard  of  the  Revolution,  p.  41;  Ramsey,  Annals  of 
Tennessee,  p.  104. 

2  The  visitor  in  Nashville  today,  as  he  waits  for  his  car  in  the  transfer 
station  of  the  street  railway,  may  observe  a  dim  record  on  the  opposite 
wall,  a  record  that  transports  his  mind  from  the  rush  and  thunder  of  the 
busy  city  back  to  the  quiet  of  the  river's  reedy  banks  by  the  old  French 
Lick,  the  site  of  Nashville: 

From  1784  to  1807 

The  site  of  this  building 

was  owned  by 

James  Robertson 

Founder  of  Nashville. 


30  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

From  the  population  of  the  broad  valleys  the  moun- 
tains received  their  scantier  portion.  In  the  midst  of 
the  various  ranges  there  are  many  beautiful  little  val- 
leys and  smaller  gorges,  or  "  coves,"  and  the  plateaus 
often  make  rolling  table-lands  which  invite  first  the  wood- 
man and  then  the  farmer.  When  and  how  all  these 
little  valleys,  plateaus,  hills,  and  mountainsides  received 
their  population  there  is  little  of  chronicle  to  tell  us. 
Some,  doubtless,  of  those  who  started  from  the  eastern 
lands  to  go  to  the  far  West,  were  stopped  by  weariness 
or  accident  in  some  fan-  spot  that  promised  a  home  to 
a  heartsick  woman  or  a  broken  man.  Others  came 
back  into  the  mountains  when  the  valleys,  crowding 
fuller,  offered  less  of  opportunity,  because  of  high-priced 
land  or  because  of  the  hateful  presence  of  slavery,  which 
in  a  way  bore  harder  on  the  poor  white  man  than  it  did 
on  the  negro.  Here  in  the  beautiful  free  mountain  country 
they  reared  their  families  and  sent  forth  their  sons  and 
daughters  to  conquer  the  harder  fields  and  hills  that 
always  remained.  And  so  the  mountains  were  filled, 
until  today,  from  the  Ohio  and  the  Susquehanna  in  the 
North  to  the  brows  of  Kennesaw  and  Lookout  in  the 
South,  the  mountaineers  muster  four  million  souls. 

They  make  a  distinct  and  a  notable  class.  They  are 
the  Highlanders  of  America,  in  environment,  in  habit, 
in  disposition,  and  largely  in  blood.  For  they  remain, 
as  they  began,  America's  purest  stock  of  the  British 
Isles,  Scotch  and  English  and  Irish,  with  some  infusion 
from  the  best  blood  of  Germany  and  France.  If  we  were 
to  judge  from  the  family  names  in  the  mountains  today, 
we  -should  say  that  the  majority  of  the  people  are  of 
Scotch  and  Irish  descent,  with  the  English  element  al- 
most as  great,  a  very  respectable  percentage  of  Hugue- 
not blood,  and  the  German  almost  lost.1  The  speech 

1  Without  doubt  there  are  many  Anglicized  German  names  which 
pass  for  English,  and  by  this  means  it  is  impossible  correctly  to  measure 
the  amount  of  German  blood  among  the  mountaineers.  But,  in  every 
way,  the  impress  of  the  German  is  scarcely  to  be  seen  upon  the  mountain 
people,  except  in  the  lower  Shenaudoah, 


The  Pioneers  31 

is  eighteenth-century  English,  with  some  Scotticisms 
thrown  in.  The  great  valleys,  of  course,  have  more 
nearly  kept  pace  with  the  progress  and  the  decadence 
of  the  rest  of  the  world,  but  the  people  of  the  more  iso- 
lated mountain  sections  well  deserve,  in  all  that  the 
phrase  implies  of  honor  and  respect  as  well  as  of  sym- 
pathy, the  term  which  has  been  applied  to  them,  "our 
contemporary  ancestors." 


After  photo  by  Scadin. 


Ill 

IN  TIMES  OF  WAR 

THERE  was  never  a  more  fearless  people  than  the  men 
of  the  mountains.  In  their  forward  march  they  faced 
not  only  the  discomforts  and  dangers  of  the  wilderness, 
but  a  savage  people  who  had  no  mind  to  be  dispossessed 
of  their  hunting  grounds. 

About  midway  in  the  Southern  lands  there  stretched 
from  the  ocean  to  the  Mississippi  a  group  of  Indian 
tribes  remarkable  for  their  courage,  independence,  and 
high-hearted  resistance  to  the  encroachment  of  the 
whites.  On  the  eastern  side  of  the  mountains,  in  North 
Carolina,  lived  the  powerful  tribe  of  Tuscaroras,  kin  to 
the  Iroquois  of  New  York,  the  most  advanced  and  the 
most  powerful  of  all  the  native  peoples.  In  1711  the 
Tuscaroras  began  a  terrific  assault  upon  the  infant 
settlements  of  eastern  North  Carolina.  They  were 
finally  subdued,  and  in  making  peace  the  remnant  of 
the  tribe  agreed  to  remove  to  the  land  of  their  brethren 
in  New  York.  There  they  joined  the  confederacy  of 
the  Five  Nations  of  the  Iroquois,  which  was  thereafter 
known  as  the  Six  Nations. 

Inhabiting  the  mountains  to  the  west,  from  the 
Blue  Ridge  to  the  Cumberlands  in  Tennessee,  were  the 
Cherokees,  who  were  divided  into  two  sections,  the 
mountain  Indians,  or  Otari,  who  lived  in  the  highlands 
of  North  Carolina,  and  the  Erati,  or  valley  Indians, 
(32) 


In  Times  of  War  33 

who  held  the  valley  of  the  Tennessee  and  adjacent 
parts.  They  were  noted  as  the  most  spirited  and  war- 
like of  all  the  Southern  tribes.1 

There  was  an  offshoot  of  this  tribe  dwelling  in  towns 
near  the  present  city  of  Chattanooga,  and  afterwards 
inhabiting  the  gorges  of  the  river  below,  in  Alabama, 
known  as  the  Chickamaugas.  They  were  at  first  com- 
posed wholly  of  Cherokees,  but  afterwards  received 
many  renegade  white  men  and  runaway  negroes,  as 
well  as  outlaws  from  other  Indian  tribes,  and  by  this 
infusion  of  bad  blood,  added  to  the  already  great  fe- 
rocity of  the  tribe,  they  became  the  most  bloodthirsty, 
treacherous,  and  vindictive  Indians  with  whom  the 
settlers  had  to  deal.3 

Lying  south  and  west  of  the  Cherokees  was  the  great 
Creek  nation,  a  people  of  high  intelligence  and  great 
ability.  They  did  not  so  delight  in  war  as  the  Chero- 
kees, but  they  were  a  very  powerful  tribe,  and  possessed 
of  courage  in  the  defense  of  their  rights.  Beyond  them, 
and  reaching  to  the  Mississippi,  were  the  Chickasaws, 
similar  in  character  to  the  Creeks,  though  partaking 
more  fully  of  the  warlike  nature  of  the  Cherokees.  South 
of  the  Chickasaws,  and  often  joining  with  them,  were 
the  Choctaws,  a  tribe  of  less  importance  both  in  peace 
and  in  war. 

These  Indian  tribes  faced  the  settlers  on  their  south- 
ern and  western  frontiers,  and  long  contested  the  ground 
with  them.  Kentucky  was  uninhabited  by  any  set- 


tThe  fighting  qualities  of  the  Cherokees  have  been  depreciated  by 
a  modern  writer,  who  quotes  a  tidewater  Virginian  as  authority.  But 
writers  nearer  to  the  Cherokees  in  point  both  of  time  and  place,  bear  a  very 
different  record.  They  represent  them  as  warlike  and  courageous,  with 
a  haughtiness  born  of  almost  invariable  victory  over  neighboring  tribes. 
When  in  1730  the  white  people  tried  to  induce  the  Cherokees  to  make 
peace  with  the  Tuscaroras,  with  whom  they  were  habitually  at  war, 
the  reply  was,  "We  cannot  live  without  war.  Should  we  make  peace 
with  the  Tuscaroras,  we  must  immediately  look  out  for  some  other  with 
whom  we  can  be  engaged;  for  war  is  our  life."  When  the  Tuscaroras 
left,  the  Cherokees  faced  the  whites.  See  Ramsey,  Annals  of  Tennessee, 
p.  83;  Turner,  Life  of  John  Sewer,  pp.  24-26. 

'Ramsey,  Annals  of  Tennessee,  pp.  183-186. 
3 


34  'Fhe  Men  of  the  Mountains 

tied  bands  of  Indians.  It  was  the  common  hunting 
ground  of  the  Northern  and  Southern  tribes,  never  in 
the  peaceable  possession  of  either,  but  always  the  scene 
of  hostile  encounters  whenever  opposing  hunting  par- 
ties chanced  there  to  meet.  The  Shawnees,  to  the 
north  of  the  Ohio,  mingled  with  the  fierce  Iroquois, 
and  their  bands  were  the  most  troublesome  that  har- 
rassed  Daniel  Boone  and  his  companions  in  Kentucky. 

It  was  with  the  Cherokees  and  Chickamaugas,  how- 
ever, that  the  greatest  difficulties  were  experienced. 
Treaties  were  made  with  them  by  the  English  and  the 
colonial  governments  at  different  times,  by  which  they 
ceded  lands  to  the  settlers;  but  the  treaties  were  illy 
kept.  Some  of  the  Indians  protested  against  them; 
and  the  settlers,  as  they  grew  more  numerous,  stepped 
over  the  boundaries  and  took  up  lands  which  did  not 
belong  to  them.  Various  other  grievances,  as  thefts 
and  murders  committed  by  white  outlaws  at  different 
times,  enraged  the  Indians,  and  their  natural  thirst 
for  blood  prompted  them  to  assail  the  lonely  cabins 
and  even  the  log  forts. 

The  Tennessee  Valley  dwellers  were  fortunate  in 
having  a  leader  capable  of  meeting  this  savage  foe. 
John  Sevier,  a  Virginian  of  Huguenot  descent,  in  1772 
settled  in  the  Watauga  country,  on  the  Nolichucky 
River,  and  by  his  gallantry  and  his  genial  and  hospitable 
nature  soon  became,  as  he  always  remained,  the  most 
noted  and  the  most  popular  man  in  the  Tennessee 
Valley. 

Oconostota,  the  far-seeing  head  of  the  Cherokee 
people,  and  Atta-culla-culla,  the  vice-king,  fought  fiercely 
against  the  whites,  until,  their  towns  in  ashes,  their 
fields  and  orchards  destroyed,  and  many  of  their  war- 
riors slain,  they  were  fain  to  purchase  a  peace  of  their 
conquerors. 

John  Sevier's  method  of  Indian  warfare  was  harsh 
and  seemingly  cruel,  but  it  was  the  only  kind  that 
would  impress  the  Indian  mind.  After  he  had  carried 


In  Times  of  War  35 

fire  and  sword  remorselessly  through  the  midst  of  their 
country,  until  they  sued  for  peace,  he  was  ever  ready 
to  extend  to  them  his  friendship,  upon  then:  promises 
of  good  behavior,  and  no  one  was  trusted  so  much  by 
them  as  this  same  "Nolichucky  Jack,"  as  Sevier  was 
familiarly  called  by  both  Indians  and  settlers.  To  his 
own  people  he  was  a  tower  of  strength,  to  whom  they 
turned  in  every  hour  of  danger.  He  was  a  copy,  on  a 
ruder  stage,  of  his  gallant  and  glorious  fellow-country- 
man and  fellow-religionist,  King  Henry  of  Navarre. 
He  never  lost  a  battle,  and  though  always  at  the  head 
of  his  men,  he  never  had  a  wound.  He  was  the  idol  of 
the  frontiersmen  of  Tennessee,  who  followed  him  un- 
questioningly  into  the  haunts  of  the  bloody  Chicka- 
maugas  and  the  fastnesses  of  the  mountain  Cherokees, 
or  after  the  marauding  Tory  and  British  bands  in  the 
East. 

Forty  miles  to  the  north  of  Sevier 's  home  lived  Evan 
Shelby  and  his  son,  Isaac,  who  were,  almost  equally 
with  Sevier  and  Robertson,  the  leaders  of  the  men 
of  the  valley.  Under  the  Shelbys,  the  Watauga  men 
joined  the  Virginia  and  Pennsylvania  forces  that 
won  the  great  battle  of  the  Kanawha  against  the  Shaw- 
nees  and  Iroquois  in  1774;  and  they  were  among  the 
leaders  who  marched  over-mountain  in  1780  to  fight  the 
British  at  King's  Mountain.  Isaac  Shelby  became  the 
first  governor  of  Kentucky,  as  did  John  Sevier  of  Ten- 
nessee. 

When  the  Revolutionary  War  came,  it  found  the 
Tennessee  Valley  with  about  three  thousand  set- 
tlers— men,  women,  and  children — while  the  valley  of 
Virginia  had  a  much  larger  population,  probably  fifteen 
or  twenty  thousand.  The  valley  of  Virginia  bore  its  full 
part  in  filling  the  Continental  armies,  for  it  was  cjiose  to 
the  scene  of  action,  and  was  felt  to  be  an  integral  part 
of  the  colony.  One  of  its  sons,  General  Daniel  Morgan, 
raised  in  the  valley  his  famous  rifle  corps,  which  won 
fame  in  both  Northern  and  Southern  campaigns,  contrib- 


36  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

uting  in  great  measure  to  the  victory  of  Saratoga  and  to 
Greene's  successes  in  the  South. 

But  the  Tennessee  Valley  people,  and  with  them 
the  Backwater  Settlements,  were  more  distant,  and 
with  the  great  mountain  mass  between  them  and  the 
coast,  they  were  more  shut  up  to  their  own  problems 
and  difficulties,  and  were  also  protected  from  invasion. 
But  they  had  no  unimportant  part  to  play  as  "the 
rear-guard  of  the  Revolution." 

The  British  had  agents  of  influence  among  the 
Cherokees,  and  in  1778  they  persuaded  these  Indians 
to  plan  an  attack  upon  the  over-mountain  settlers,  at 
the  same  time  that  the  Shawnees  and  British  were  to 
march  down  from  above  the  Ohio,  and  the  British  were 
to  sweep  the  country  east  of  the  mountains  from  Sa- 
vannah and  Charleston  to  the  Potomac. 

The  plot  was  well  laid  and  carefully  concealed.  Sa- 
vannah and  Charleston  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the 
British,  and  all  of  Georgia  and  South  Carolina  were  under 
their  control.  This  opened  the  road  to  the  Indian  coun- 
try, and  the  British  thereupon  sent  a  pack-train  with 
large  supplies  of  ammunition  and  money  up  through 
Georgia  to  the  Cherokees,  who  for  safe  keeping  be- 
stowed the  treasure  in  the  towns  of  the  Chickamaugas. 
British  officers  were  among  the  Cherokees,  carefully 
planning  every  detail  of  the  plot,  which  was  to  be  sud- 
denly and  secretly  sprung,  and  was  to  wipe  out  the  over- 
mountain  settlements  in  a  day.  If  it  had  succeeded, 
there  is  little  question  that  the  British  would  have  held 
everything  south  of  Virginia,  and  very  likely  have  won 
all  America.  For  with  the  Tennessee  Valley  smitten, 
there  would  have  been  no  one  to  fight  King's  Mountain, 
no  King's  Mountain  to  turn  back  the  tide  of  Cornwallis' 
success,  and  finally  no  Cornwallis  cooped  up  in  Yorktown 
to  surrender  British  hopes  with  his  sword. 

But  God  was  watching  over  the  fortunes  of  America. 
The  plan  of  the  British  and  Indians  was  defeated  by  the 
impatience  of  Dragging  Canoe,  the  Chickamauga  chief, 


In  Times  of  War  37 

to  begin  the  war.  He  could  not  see  so  much  powder 
and  shot  lying  idle  those  long  weeks,  while  the  Cherokees 
were  getting  thoroughly  ready,  and  so  he  started  with 
some  of  his  braves  on  a  raid.  James  Robertson,  who  had 
been  appointed  commissioner  of  Indian  affairs  for  North 
Carolina,  and  who  had  taken  up  his  residence  at  the 
Indian  town  of  Chota,  heard  of  the  threatening  storm, 
and  informed  the  settlements.  In  consequence,  only 
a  few  of  the  outlying,  lonely  homes  were  surprised. 

The  Tennessee  men  determined  to  make  a  counter 
stroke  which  should  effectually  stop  these  preparations. 
A  force  of  several  hundred  men  were  gathered  on  the 
upper  waters  of  Clinch  River,  and  under  the  command 
of  Evan  Shelby  they  went  swiftly  down  the  river  to  the 
Chickamauga  towns.  Falling  upon  the  Indians  without 
warning,  Shelby  defeated  them  in  detail,  burned  several 
of  their  towns,  and  destroyed  the  stores  placed  among 
them  by  the  British. 

This  disaster  cooled  the  ardor  of  the  Chickamaugas 
for  a  time,  and  their  war  party  suddenly  returned  home. 
But  yet  they  and  their  Cherokee  brethren  brooded  sul- 
lenly for  some  months,  and  before  long  broke  out  again. 
This  time  the  whites,  aroused  and  on  their  guard,  and 
with  Sevier  and  Shelby  at  their  head,  so  thoroughly 
reduced  their  savage  foe  that  the  Indians  were  glad 
to  purchase  a  peace  of  "Nolichucky  Jack,"  and  promise 
to  live  in  love  with  their  white  brothers.1 

Thus  the  terrible  storm  that  was  to  have  burst  on  the 
rear-guard  of  America  was  dispelled.  Sevier  returned 
to  his  home  on  the  Nolichucky,  Shelby  to  his  in  the 
Holston  district,  but  now,  with  all  then*  fellow-settlers, 
alert  for  danger  and  stirred  to  fiery  indignation  by  this 
revelation  of  the  fiendish  plot  against  them. 

While  in  this  state  of  mind,  they  received  a  message 
across  the  mountains  from  Ferguson,  a  British  officer 
whom  Cornwallis,  advancing  up  into  North  Carolina, 

1  Ramsey,  Annals  of  Tennessee,  pp.  186-190;  Roosevelt,  Winning 
of  the  West,  Vol.  II,  pp.  114-120. 


38  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

had  sent  out  toward  the  mountains  to  gather  what 
Tories  he  could  to  his  ranks,  and  to  overawe  the  pa- 
triots. Ferguson  had  encountered  a  company  of  four 
hundred  over-mountain  men  who  had  been  sent  over 
too  late  to  help  save  Charleston.  Stirred  to  wrath 
against  these  strange,  long-haired,  buckskin-shirted  men 
whose  ami  with  the  rifle  was  so  unerring,  he  sent  a  let- 
ter by  a  liberated  prisoner  to  the  Tennessee  settlers, 
warning  them  that  unless  they  ceased  fighting  the 
British,  he  would  march  over  the  mountains  and  burn  them 
out.  It  was  an  idle  threat,  but  it  had  an  unexpected 
answer.  The  letter  was  sent  to  Shelby,  who  had  headed 
some  of  the  four  hundred,  but  who  had  now  returned  to 
his  home.  He  rode  at  once  to  Sevier's,  and  together 
they  resolved  to  answer  Ferguson's  threat  in  person. 

They  sent  word  to  William  Campbell,  sheriff  of  the 
Backwater  Settlements,  who  marched  to  join  them  with 
four  hundred  men  from  Virginia.  The  rendezvous  was 
at  Sycamore  Shoals  on  the  Watauga,  and  here  the  men 
of  the  mountains  gathered  to  the  number  of  nearly  a 
thousand.  Practically  the  whole  military  strength  of 
the  Tennessee  settlements  was  present,  and  lots  were 
drawn  to  determine  who  should  remain  at  home  to  de- 
fend the  settlements.  Then  the  little  army,  after  being 
dedicated  to  their  work  in  a  prayer  by  the  old  Presby- 
terian minister,  Parson  Doak,  took  up  their  line  of  march, 
most  of  them  on  horseback,  single-filing  over  the  moun- 
tains. Being  joined  east  of  the  mountains  by  a  force 
from  that  section,  till  they  numbered  fifteen  hundred, 
they  set  out  in  rapid  search  of  Ferguson,  who,  when  he 
heard  of  then1  coming,  began  a  hasty  retreat.  They 
overtook  him,  however,  at  the  border  line  of  North  and 
South  Carolina,  after  so  rapid  a  march  that  they  left  all 
but  nine  hundred  of  their  men  behind. 

With  about  one  thousand  British  and  Tories,  Fer- 
guson entrenched  himself  on  the  top  of  a  wooded  hill, 
which  he  named  King's  Mountain.  The  nine  hundred 
and  ten  mountaineers  surrounded  him  and  began  their 


In  Times  of  Wai*  39 

Assault,  which  lasted  all  day.  As  the  British  would 
charge  down  one  side  with  the  bayonet,  the  mountain- 
eers, who  had  none,  would  retreat  on  that  side,  but  on 
the  other  they  would  be  creeping  higher,  and  when  the 
British  returned  to  their  entrenchments,  they  were  fol- 
lowed by  the  foe  they  had  so  lately  driven.  Slowly  the 
British  were  hemmed  into  a  compact  mass  at  the  very 
crown  of  the  hill,  where  they  were  mowed  down  by  the 
terrific  rifle  fire.  The  end  was  the  death  of  Ferguson 
and  the  surrender  of  his  army. 

The  following  day  the  mountaineers  started  on  their 
return  march.  Some  of  them  remained  to  fight  in  the 
army  of  General  Greene,  but  the  majority,  fearful  for 
their  homes  which  they  had  left  so  scantily  guarded, 
returned  at  once  across  the  mountains. 

At  King's  Mountain,  however,  had  been  struck  the 
critical  blow  of  the  Revolution.  At  the  time  of  that 
battle,  the  Carolinas  and  Georgia  were  wholly  in  the 
hands  of  the  British,  and  Cornwallis  was  just  about 
to  invade  Virginia.  On  hearing  of  the  disaster  to  Fer- 
guson, Cornwallis  hastily  retreated  toward  Charleston, 
followed  by  Greene,  who  during  the  next  year  played 
the  game  of  war  so  well  that  he  manipulated  Cornwallis 
into  Virginia,  finally  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  Washing- 
ton at  Yorktown.  The  victory  of  King's  Mountain 
was  the  turning  point  of  the  Revolution,  a  victory  won 
by  the  sudden  and  unexpected  forward  movement  of 
the  " rear-guard/7  the  men  of  the  mountains. 

There  were  no  British  to  meet  in  Kentucky,  and  no 
organized  and  determined  Indian  foe  as  in  Tennessee. 
But  Virginians,  mainly  mountain  men,  under  George 
Rogers  Clark,  were  the  heroes  in  wresting  Illinois  and 
Indiana  from  the  English,  in  1778-79.  With  a  dwin- 
dling force,  in  the  depths  of  winter,  Clark  successively 
took  Kaskaskia,  Illinois,  and  Vincennes,  Indiana,  sur- 
prising the  British  garrisons  and  cajoling  the  French  in- 
habitants. His  march  from  Kaskaskia  to  Vincennes,  a 
distance  of  two  hundred  miles,  was  made  in  the  time  of  the 


40  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

spring  floods,  when  for  days  his  men  had  to  march  through 
waters  often  up  to  then:  necks.1  But  he  and  his  Vir- 
ginians took  and  held  the  Northwest  Territory. 

After  independence  was  secured,  the  western  tide 
of  emigration  rapidly  increased,  and  Kentucky  especially 
filled  rapidly  with  settlers.  She  was  the  first  State 
west  of  the  mountains  to  be  admitted  to  the  Union. 
This  was  in  1792,  and  Tennessee  followed  in  1796.  The 
after  development  of  those  States  was  chiefly  in  the 
lowlands.  The  mountains  between  Kentucky  and  Vir- 
ginia were  only  gradually  filled,  and  the  same  is  true 
of  the  Cumberlands  in  Tennessee.  The  North  Caro- 
lina plateau,  lying  between  the  Blue  Ridge  and  the 
Great  Smoky  chain,  for  the  most  part  continued  to  be 
held  by  the  Cherokees,  until  then:  removal  by  treaty 
to  Indian  Territory  in  1838.  The  northern  part  of  this 
plateau  had,  however,  received  not  a  few  settlers,  and 
the  more  southern  part,  especially  the  wide,  rolling 
French  Broad  Valley,  was  speedily  occupied  upon  the 
removal  of  the  Indians.  Only  a  fragment  of  the  tribe 
now  remains  upon  a  small  reservation  in  the  Great 
Smoky  Mountains. 

As  has  been  said,  it  was  largely  the  encroachments 
of  slavery  that  filled  the  mountains  with  its  population 
of  the  poorer  or  more  conscientious  or  more  race- 
conscious  of  the  white  people.  Though  such  compara- 
tively level  country  as  the  Shenandoah  and  Tennessee 
valleys  and  parts  of  the  North  Carolina  plateau  had 
not  a  few  slave-holders,  the  vastly  great  majority  of 
the  mountaineers  were  without  slaves,  and  were  haters 
of  slavery,  the  most  of  them  not  so  much  from  a  moral 
as  from  an  economic  point  of  view.  One  of  the  strong- 
est champions  of  the  Union  in  East  Tennessee  was 
" Parson"  Brownlow,  of  Knoxville.  In  his  paper,  The 
Knoxville  Whig,  he  fiercely  and  fearlessly  lashed  seces- 
sion and  secessionists;  yet  just  as  fiercely  he  turned 

» Roosevelt,  Winning  of  the  West,  Vol.  II,  p.  221. 


In  Times  of  War  41 

his  scorn  upon  the  slave-carriers  of  the  North.1  But 
while  he  entered  a  plea  for  slave-owners,  he  cursed 
secession,  and  used  all  his  powers  to  preserve  the  Union. 
In  this  attitude  he  was  representative  of  a  certain  class 
of  his  fellow-mountaineers.  The  negro  was  no  charge 
of  theirs.  If  they  must  see  him  at  all,  they  preferred 
to  see  him  a  slave.  But  they  loved  the  Union.  They 
felt  the  heart-throb  of  the  nation  more  than  the 
pulse-beat  of  the  section.  They  had  a  State  pride, 
but  then-  pride  in  the  nation  was  greater.  They  had 
grasped  and  borne  aloft  the  "  Stars  and  Stripes" 
wavering  in  the  fierce  strife  of  the  Revolution,  they  had 
in  great  numbers  fought  under  the  folds  of  "Old  Glory" 
in  the  wars  of  1812  and  1846;  and  with  the  fierce  loyalty 
of  the  mountaineer  they  exclaimed  in  1861  that  the 
old  flag  should  not  go  down. 

Yet  another  and  perhaps  a  larger  number  put  their 
hatred  of  slavery  in  the  forefront.  From  the  foothills 
of  North  Carolina  came  forth  the  challenge  of  the  free- 
soilers  of  the  South  to  the  slave-holders:  "Our  motto 
—  and  we  would  have  you  to  understand  it  —  is  the 
abolition  of  slavery  and  the  perpetuation  of  the  Ameri- 
can Union.  If  by  any  means  you  .  .  .  take  the 
South  out  of  the  Union  today,  we  will  bring  it  back 
tomorrow.  If  she  goes  away  with  you,  she  will  return 
without  you.  ...  If  ...  the  oligarchs  do  not 
quietly  submit  to  the  will  of  a  constitutional  majority 
of  the  people,  as  expressed  at  the  ballot-box,  the  first 
battle  between  freedom  and  slavery  will  be  fought  at 
home  —  and  may  God  defend  the  right!"2 


States  of  this  Union  north  of  Mason  and  Dixon's  line,  com- 
monly called  the  New  England  States,  alias  the  Free  States,  were  never 
to  any  great  extent  slave-holding.  No  Sir-ee!  Their  virtuous  and  pious 
minds  were  chiefly  exercised  in  slave-stealing  and  slave-selling.  To 
Old  England,  the  mother  country,  our  Pilgrim  Fathers  of  the  New  Eng- 
land States  are  indebted  for  their  knowledge  of  the  art  of  slave-stealing; 
and  to  the  pious,  God-fearing  and  liberty-loving  New  England  States 
are  we  of  the  South  wholly  indebted  for  our  slaves!"  —  Brownlow,  quoted 
in  "A  History  of  Tennessee  and  the  Tennesseans,"  Will  T.  Hale,  p.  455. 

2Hintpn  R.  Helper,  The  Impending  Crisis,  pp.   186,  413.     Helper 
was  born  in  Davie  County,  North  Carolina,  near  the  mountains,  and 


42  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

It  is  to  be  remembered  that  the  men  of  the  tidewater 
section  and  the  men  of  the  mountains  were  in  great  part 
from  different  peoples.  The  coastal  region  was  settled 
chiefly  by  Englishmen,  who  had  been  used,  either  in  them- 
selves or  in  their  superiors,  to  pleasant  lives  of  wealth  and 
culture.  The  mountain  population,  while  it  included  the 
more  daring  spirits  from  among  the  English,  and  to  a 
lesser  degree  the  sprightly  Huguenot  and  the  stolid 
German,  was  chiefly  composed  of  and  influenced  by  the 
Celtish  blood  of  the  Scotch  and  Scotch-Irish,  lovers 
of  wild  liberty  and  haters  of  oppression.  There  was  al- 
ways antagonism  between  the  mountains  and  the  low- 
lands in  the  politics  of  Virginia  and  the  Carolinas,  with 
slavery  as  a  predisposing  cause.  As  for  the  western  parts 
of  Tennessee  and  Kentucky,  they  were  peopled  by  the 
same  men  who  filled  the  mountains,  and  it  took  time 
for  the  differences  of  location,  'soil,  and  social  conditions 
to  create  antagonism  between  them.  Thus  it  came  about 
that  when  slavery  was  drawing  near  its  crisis,  there  was 
a  sharper  distinction  between  the  mountaineers  and  the 
lowlanders  in  Virginia  and  North  Carolina  than  in 
Kentucky  and  Tennessee.  Yet  when  it  came  to  war,  there 
was  a  curious  twist  in  the  situation:  of  the  two  North- 
ern States,  Virginia,  the  easternmost,  felt  the  sharpest 
cleavage  in  its  population;  of  the  two  Southern,  Tennessee, 
the  westernmost,  had  the  most  decided  division.  Ken- 
tucky's Union  sentiment  was  widely  distributed  through- 
out the  State;  Virginia's  was  so  greatly  localized  that 
the  western  counties  split  off  and  formed  the  new  com- 
monwealth of  West  Virginia  in  1863.  North  Carolina, 


was  a  representative  of  the  non-slave-holding  class  so  greatly  in  the  ma- 
jority in  the  South.  His  book,  addressed  to  the  South,  made  a  master- 
ful appeal  for  the  abolition  of  slavery,  based  upon  unanswerable  economic, 
historical,  and  moral  arguments.  But,  coming  as  it  did  at  the  very  climax 
of  the  struggle,  and  stinting  no  words  in  its  arraignment  of  the  slave-hold- 
ing aristocracy,  it  had  less  influence  in  the  black  belt  than  in  free-soil 
regions.  It  had  great  influence  in  the  campaign  that  resulted  in  the 
election  of  Lincoln,  and  it  greatly  helped  in  shaping  the  attitude  of  the 
mountain  country.  As  for  the  author,  he  was  driven  out  of  the  South,  to 
find  a  refuge  in  the  nation's  capital. 


In  Times  of  War  43 

though  its  mountains  held  many  Union  sympathizers 
who  in  State  politics  were  opposed  to  the  slave-holding 
oligarchy,  yet  felt  the  surge  of  Southern  sentiment 
deeply  to  the  very  walls  of  its  western  line;  but  East 
Tennessee,  despite  outside  influences  which  strenuously 
sought  to  win  her  to  the  Confederacy,  remained  chiefly 
Unionist  to  the  last. 

And  when  it  came  to  fighting — "I  reckon  y'all  had 
the  draft  in  your  country/7  said  a  Kentucky  mountain- 
eer to  a  Northerner  after  the  war. 

"Yes,  we  had  the  draft." 

"We  didn't  have  no  draft  in  our  country,"  said  the 
Kentuckian. 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  we  listed  so  fast  the  draft  couldn't  catch 
us,"  was  the  proud  reply. 

Kentucky  gave  seventy-five  thousand  men  to  the 
Union  armies  from  all  parts  of  the  State;  and  the  gift 
of  Virginia's  mountains  was  thirty-seven  thousand. 
Tennessee  furnished  over  fifty  thousand  soldiers  to  the 
Federal  armies,  thirty-five  thousand  of  whom  were 
from  the  mountain  section.  The  mountains  of  North 
Carolina,  Georgia,  and  Alabama,  though  largely  Union- 
ist hi  sentiment,  had  not  Tennessee's  advantage  of  be- 
ing next  to  Union  territory;  and  so  their  Union  men 
were  either  compelled  to  enter  the  Confederate  army 
or  take  the  uncertain  chances  of  the  lier-out  and  the 
refugee. 1 

These  were  the  men  of  the  mountains;  what  of  the 
women?  In  the  story  of  the  war  between  the  States, 
the  women  of  the  South  have  right  to  the  high  praise 
given  them  for  the  spirit  with  which  they  cheered  their 
men  and  the  courage  with  which  they  endured  the 
pain  of  privation  and  the  anguish  of  loss.  And  none 
were  there  more  spirited  than  those  daughters  of  Hu- 
guenot and  Covenanter  who  dwelt  in  the  mountains. 

1  Anderson,  Fighting  by  Southern  Federals,  p.  10. 


44  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

They  saw  their  men  swept  away  to  fill  the  ranks  of  the 
Union  and  the  Confederate  armies.  Alone  with  their 
children,  they  tilled  the  fields  and  garnered  the  har- 
vest, often  but  to  see  it  vanish  in  the  raid  of  the  soldier 
or  the  guerilla.  Often  they  escaped  to  the  laurel  only 
in  time  to  save  themselves  from  death  at  the  hands  of 
marauders  who  set  their  homes  in  flames.  Many  a  time 
did  they  go  on  scout  and  courier  duty  when  men  were 
lacking  or  then-  peril  greater. 

A  great  poet  has  chanted  the  praises  of  Paul  Revere, 
who  rode  twelve  miles  to  warn  the  Concord  men  that 
the  redcoats  were  coming.  But  who  has  sung  the  fame 
of  Mary  Love,  who  rode  in  winter  weather  thirty-five 
miles  by  road  and  trail,  and  through  the  enemy's  lines, 
to  carry  word  from  General  Grant  to  the  beleaguered 
army  at  Knoxville?  or  of  the  mother  of  the  little  John 
Brown  who  seized  the  dispatches  from  the  hand  of  the 
faulting  girl,  and  piloted  her  little  son  at  night  through 
the  hostile  pickets  till  he  was  safely  on  his  way  with  the 
news  of  relief  to  Burnside?  1 

But  not  in  daring  merely  —  more  in  watching,  wait- 
ing, enduring,  succoring,  are  written  the  annals  of  the 
women  of  the  mountains.  Yet  sometimes  then*  spirit 
shamed  even  brave  men  who  had  faced  a  thousand  dan- 
gers, but  quailed  before  a  sudden  assault.  Of  all  the 
Union  leaders  in  east  Tennessee,  few  were  better  known 
than  " Parson"  Brownlow,  then  the  editor  of  the  fiercely 
partizan  Whig,  and  after  the  war  the  governor  of  the 
State.  None  were  more  bitterly  hated  by  Secessionists 
or  more  fully  trusted  by  Unionists.  His  courage  had 
been  tried  and  proved  in  debate,  in  plot,  in  prison,  and 
in  exile,  and  to  the  people  of  East  Tennessee  his  giving 
way  before  their  enemy  was  almost  unbelievable.  But 
when  Burnside  retreated  before  Longstreet,  word  was 
sent  to  the  most  prominent  noncombatants  of  Knox- 
ville that  it  would  be  wise  for  them  to  leave.  Accord- 


1  Temple,  East  Tennessee  and  the  Civil  War,  pp.  521-523. 


In  Times  of  War  45 

ingly  some  of  the  chief  Unionists  whose  place  was  not 
in  the  army  left,  under  cavalry  escort,  for  Kentucky. 
Among  them  was  Brownlow. 

Through  the  miry  roads,  in  a  heavy  downpour  of 
ram,  the  melancholy  procession  went  on  its  way  toward 
the  North,  everywhere  being  greeted  with  startled  in- 
quiries as  to  the  state  of  things  at  the  front.  Just  over 
the  first  county  line  they  came,  early  in  the  night,  upon 
a  cabin  out  of  which  swarmed  a  host  of  children,  with 
their  stout  mother  at  their  head,  holding  high  a  pine 
torch. 

"What  in  the  name  of  God,"  she  said,  "does  all 
this  mean?  Where  are  you  men  going?  Is  Burnside  re- 
treating? Who  are  you,  anyhow?" 

One  of  the  party  thus  roughly  challenged  answered 
mildly  that  General  Burnside,  so  far  from  being  able 
to  retreat,  was  probably  now  a  prisoner  with  all  his  army. 

"And  you  are  running,"  she  exclaimed,  "without 
firing  a  gun!" 

"Oh,  no,"  said  an  ironic  old  gentleman,  "we  are 
simply  retiring  in  good  order,  to  save  the  country." 

"Yes!"  she  returned,  waving  her  torch  in  their  faces 
with  a  patriotic  fierceness,  "and  I  expect  the  next  thing 
I'll  hear  will  be  that  old  Bill  Brownlow  is  running  too!" 

At  this  point  that  doughty  hero,  concealed  in  the 
midst  of  his  party,  remarked  in  a  subdued  but  fervent 
tone  of  voice:  "Gentlemen,  this  is  no  place  to  make  a 
stand.  I  think  I'd  rather  encounter  Longstreet's  army 
or  Vaughn's  cavalry  than  that  woman!"1 

It  was  the  strong  element  of  the  mountaineers,  allied 
to  the  very  considerable  Unionist  party  in  the  low- 
lands, that  made  all  but  the  most  southern  States  doubt- 
ful to  the  Confederacy.  North  Carolina  at  first  voted 
down  secession;  Tennessee  voted  it  down  once  and  al- 
most the  second  time,  and  was  out  of  the  Union  but  three 
months;  Virginia  at  first  voted  against  secession,  and 

ss,  The  Loyal  Mountaineers  of  Tennessee,  p.  382. 


46  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

when  it  at  last  went  with  the  Confederacy,  it  lost  to 
the  Union  its  northwestern  portion.  Kentucky  never 
left  the  Union. 

It  has  been  said  by  competent  authorities  that  if 
it  had  not  been  for  the  mountains  and  the  hostile  moun- 
taineers, the  South,  despite  the  odds  against  her,  might 
well  have  won  in  the  Civil  War.  She  was  fighting  a 
defensive  war,  always  an  advantage  in  itself.  Her  ar- 
mies were  composed  of  men  than  whom  none  could  have 
been  more  brave  and  enduring,  more  hopeful  and  per- 
sistent. But  the  South  was  cut  into  three  parts.  In 
the  west  the  Mississippi  clove  between  the  western 
South  and  the  main  body.  More  important  still,  in 
the  east  the  mountains  formed  a  barrier  between  the 
coastal  States  and  the  middle  States,  in  which  sections 
the  main  part  of  the  war  was  fought.  And  neither  ar- 
mies nor  supplies  could  well  be  transported  without  a 
long  detour  around  the  mountains.  The  difficulties  of 
transportation  across  the  mountains  might  have  been 
surmounted,  but  an  indifferent  or  hostile  population 
made  the  perils  of  the  passage  too  great,  and,  moreover, 
forbade  to  the  South  the  strategic  advantages  the  moun- 
tains naturally  afforded.  And  therefore  to  the  mountain- 
eers is  due  in  great  part  the  credit  for  the  preservation 
of  the  Union,  first,  through  then-  hostility  to  slavery  and 
to  the  State  supremacy  which  was  the  bulwark  of  sla- 
very; second,  through  the  disproportionately  large  num- 
ber of  soldiers  they  furnished  the  Union  armies;  and  third, 
through  their  holding  for  the  Union  that  long  wedge 
of  territory  that  cleft  the  South  in  two. 

On  themselves,  however,  the  effects  of  the  great  Civil 
War  were  in  large  measure  disastrous.  While  the  rest  of 
the  South  received  a  terrible  destruction  of  property 
and  life,  the  mountains,  especially  in  the  parts  less  open 
to  the  influences  of  civilization,  received  the  most  ter- 
rible destruction  of  peace  and  peace  ideals.  For  it  was 
largely  hi  the  quarrels  of  the  Civil  War,  when  brother 
fought  brother  and  clan  fought  clan,  that  the  perpetual 


In  "Times  of  War  47 

feuds  of  today  had  their  origin.  It  is  true  that  the  feud 
was  transplanted  from  Scotland  with  the  immigration 
of  the  first  settlers,  and  it  is  a  form  of  punishment  or" 
vengeance  naturally  fostered  by  the  conditions  of  moun- 
tain isolation;  but  it  is  a  matter  of  record  that  many  of 
the  Kentucky  feuds  (where  almost  all  the  feuds  are) 
were  born  in  the  Civil  War.  Not  all  the  mountaineers 
were  Unionists,  and  the  most  horrible  effects  of  war 
were  to  be  witnessed,  not  where  great  armies  fought 
pitched  battles,  but  where  the  bushwhacker  lay  in  wait 
in  the  mountain  thicket  to  shoot  his  neighbor,  or  where 
a  party  of  guerrillas,  rendered  as  savage  by  their  irregu- 
lar life  and  warfare  as  the  Indian  foes  of  their  fathers, 
had  passed  from  house  to  house,  pillaging,  and  murder- 
ing helpless  women  and  children.  And  when  one  man 
of  a  family  was  murdered,  his  brothers  or  his  sons  felt 
it  their  privilege  and  their  duty  to  murder  the  murderer, 
for  which  in  turn  they  must  be  murdered. 

"War,"  said  General  Sherman,  "is  hell,"  and  he 
who  carried  sword  and  torch  through  the  heart  of  the 
South  should  know  what  he  was  talking  about.  But 
nowhere  were  the  horrors  of  war  so  apparent  as  in  those 
nightly  raids  that  left  bloody  corpses  and  blazing  homes, 
those  dastardly  ambushes  and  fierce  encounters  as  of 
wild  beasts,  which  left  the  scars  of  war  not  merely  upon 
the  face  of  the  land  but  upon  the  hearts  of  men  to  gen- 
erations then  unborn. 

The  mountaineer  has  shown  his  prowess  in  battle 
through  the  whole  history  of  our  country,  from  the  days 
of  the  Indian  wilderness  to  the  last  great  struggle  be- 
tween the  brothers  of  the  Union.  But  let  us  be  glad  that 
the  qualities  of  loyalty,  courage,  endurance,  and  force 
which  he  has  manifested  in  the  wars  of  his  people,  can 
now  be  called  to  nobler  warfare  and  put  to  the  test  in 
a  conflict  that  may  glorify  rather  than  debase  him. 


IV 
EDUCATION  AND  RELIGION 

THE  settlers  who  filled  the  mountains  were  Protes- 
tant in  religion,  and  Protestant  they  remain  today. 
Indeed,  there  is  much  of  eighteenth-century  intolerance 
inherited  by  the  present  generation  from  their  popery- 
hating  fathers.  With  good  cause,  doubtless,  yet  without 
knowing  the  cause,  the  mountaineer,  pent  within  the 
narrow  limits  of  his  knowledge  and  experience,  holds 
in  abhorrence  the  very  name  of  Catholic,  and  even 
looks  with  aversion  upon  the  Episcopalian,  who,  in  the 
Highlander's  traditions,  is  tarred  with  the  same  stick. 
For  it  was  English  Dissenter  and  Scotch  Presbyterian 
that  chiefly  filled  the  valleys  and  settled  among  the 
hills,  and  to  them,  who  had  fought  episcopacy  along  with 
tyranny  in  the  old  country,  the  Church  of  England  was 
only  the  papacy  transferred  to  English  soil.  Some- 
thing more  of  contempt  than  of  ignorance  is  manifest  in 
this  story  current  in  the  mountains,  of  the  old  woman 
who  was  visited  by  a  missionary  in  clerical  garb. 

" Mother,"  he  asked,  "do  you  know  of  any  Episco- 
palians hereabout?" 

She  chewed  a  few  meditative  moments  on  her  snuff- 
stick. 

"Hain't  never  seed  none,"   she  replied   at  length, 
"but  my  old  man's  hung  up  yander  the  skins  of  all  the 
varmints  he's  kilt.    Ye  might  go  thar  an'  look!" 
(48) 


Education  and  Religion  49 

It  might  be  expected  from  the  large  Scotch  element 
that  peopled  the  mountains  that  the  church  of  greatest 
numbers  and  influence  would  be  the  Presbyterian.  And 
indeed  in  the  early  history  this  was  true.  Presbyterian- 
ism  was  the  prevailing  creed,  where  there  was  any, 
not  only  in  the  mountains  but  in  the  western  part  of 
Kentucky  and  Tennessee,  into  which  the  mountain  popu- 
lation overflowed. 

Into  the  valley  of  the  Tennessee,  in  1780,  came 
Samuel  Doak,  the  first  Presbyterian  minister  of  whom 
we  have  record  as  crossing  the  mountains.1  He  settled 
first  in  Sullivan  County,  near  the  northeastern  boundary, 
and  later  in  Washington  County,  on  the  Nolichucky.  He 
was  teacher  as  well  as  preacher,  and  to  him  belongs  the 
honor  of  establishing,  in  1783,  Martin  Academy,  the  first 
school  west  of  the  mountains.  Here  he  supported  him- 
self on  his  farm  while  at  the  same  time  preaching  and 
teaching. 

It  was  at  once  the  strength  and  the  weakness  of  the 
Presbyterian  Church  that  it  demanded  an  educated 
ministry.  It  was  its  strength  because  it  thus  maintained 
a  high  standard  of  service  and  of  worship;  it  was  its 
weakness  in  this  western  country  because  it  could  not 
supply  ministers  enough  to  reach  the  rapidly  growing 
and  scattered  population.  Thus  the  mountaineers 
were  left  largely  without  the  help  of  ministers  and  teach- 
ers, and  too  frequently  large  communities  lapsed  into 
irreligion  and  ignorance. 

Education  was  by  no  means  so  widely  diffused  in 
the  eighteenth  century  as  at  present,  and  it  must  not 
be  supposed  that  the  majority  of  the  western  settlers, 
whether  they  came  from  the  seaboard  or  from  Britain, 
were  able  to  read  and  write.  Of  Daniel  Boone,  in  many 
respects  the  superior  of  his  fellow  frontiersmen,  one  of 
his  biographers  states  that  he  was  the  worst  speller 
he  ever  knew,  a  fact  attested  by  a  short  record  left  by 

1  Wilson,  The  Southern  Mountaineer,  p.  80;  Phelan,  History  of  Ten- 
nessee, p.  218. 
4 


50  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

Boone   on  a  beech   tree   until  recently  standing   near 
Jonesboro,  Tennessee: 

D.   Boon 

CillED  A  BAR  On 

Tree 

in  ThE 

yEAR 

1760 

Even  those  who  could  read,  in  the  more  isolated 
districts,  often  lacked  books  for  then*  children,  who 
grew  up  with  no  learning  but  that  of  the  woods  and 
fields.  Naturally,  these  rough  frontiersmen,  free  of 
thought  and  rude  of  manner,  grew  impatient  with  the 
formal  and  polished  Presbyterian  service,  which  they 
had  only  infrequent  opportunity  to  attend,  and  Pres- 
byterianism  then  tended  either  to  become  modified  in 
form  or  to  be  driven  from  the  field  by  the  simpler  Bap- 
tist and  Methodist  forms  of  worship. 

The  Presbyterians,  however,  maintained  their  hold 
in  the  larger  and  more  settled  communities,  and  especially 
did  they  do  great  service  in  the  establishment  of  schools. 
Samuel  Doak  was  not  the  only  one  who  founded  a  school. 
Before  the  nineteenth  century  was  fairly  upon  its  way, 
there  were  several  educational  institutions  hi  the  val- 
ley of  Virginia,  and  at  least  four  academies  in  the  valley 
of  the  Tennessee.  One  of  the  former  was  Washington 
College,  afterwards  famous  as  Washington  and  Lee  Uni- 
versity. And  one  of  the  latter  was  the  Southern  and 
Western  Theological  Seminary,  or  Maryville  College, 
as  it  was  afterwards  called,  out  of  which  came  hun- 
dreds of  devoted  ministers  and  educator^  for  the  moun- 
tain country.  Maryville  College  was  founded  in  1802 
by  Rev.  Isaac  Anderson,  a  young  Presbyterian  minister 
located  in  east  Tennessee,  after  a  fruitless  journey  on 
horseback  to  Princeton  University  to  beg  for  help  for 
his  mountaineers.  Indeed,  education  was  almost  wholly 
in  the  hands  of  the  Presbyterians  in  those  early  days, 


Education  and  Religion  51 

and  the  efforts  of  their  educators,  self-sacrificing  and 
to  a  great  degree  self-supporting  men,  are  not  belittled 
by  the  heroic  labors  of  then*  Methodist  brethren  who 
displaced  them  in  the  outlying  districts. 

The  only  Methodist  school  of  the  early  days  was 
Bethel  Academy,  established  hi  1790  in  Jessamine 
County,  Kentucky,  in  the  edge  of  the  Blue-grass.  It 
was  a  daring  venture  at  a  time  when  Indian  massacres 
were  common  and  pioneer  minds  were  more  engaged 
with  bullets  than  with  books.  But  it  flourished  for  a 
time,  only  to  become  neglected  and  forsaken  after  a 
few  years.1 

But  education,  in  the  sense  of  book  learning  and 
scholastic  training,  was  clearly  out  of  the  question  for 
the  mountaineers  in  isolated  sections.  Not  infrequently 
parents  of  some  education  left  their  children,  for  lack  of 
opportunity  and  for  stress  of  living  conditions,  wholly 
illiterate.  There  was  no  system  of  free  public  schools, 
and  the  community  schoolhouse  could  not  flourish  where 
neighbors  were  five  to  fifty  miles  apart;  and  the  parents 
themselves  were  too  much  occupied  with  the  struggle 
for  existence  to  give  much  attention  to  the  personal 
instruction  of  their  children.  Thus  it  came  about  that 
the  mountain  country,  except  the  valleys,  was  largely 
left  without  schools  or  any  means  of  instruction. 

This  did  not  mean,  however,  that  mental  life  was 
dead.  There  was  an  education  in  the  strenuous  and 
sometimes  precarious  life  of  the  wilderness,  an  education 
that  made  sharp  eyes,  skilful  hands,  and  shrewd  minds. 
The  independence  and  the  hard  life  gave  an  education 
in  frugality,  sturdiness,  and  shrewdness,  that  did  but 
await  a  wider  opportunity  to  show  a  wider  power. 

Methodism  entered  the  mountains  almost  as  soon 
as  it  appeared  in  America.  It  thrived  far  more  in  the 
Southern  and  Middle  States  than  in  the  Northern,  the 
Methodist  General  Conference  in  1781  reporting  9,666 

JRedford,  Methodism  in  Kentucky,  p.  69;  McFerrin,  Methodism  in 
Tennessee,  pp.  271-273. 


52  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

members  south  of  Pennsylvania,  and  but  873  north  of 
Maryland.1  The  valley  of  Virginia  was  well  within 
the  field  of  the  earliest  laborers,  but  the  over-mountain 
country  was  later  in  being  reached.  Yet  it  was  only 
the  year  1783  when  Jeremiah  Lambert  was  appointed 
to  the  Holston  Circuit,  which  meant  the  valley  of  the 
Tennessee,  and  there  in  that  year  he  found  sixty  members, 
the  result,  doubtless,  of  the  work  of  some  nameless  lay 
preacher. 

Carried  by  the  undaunted  and  tireless  circuit-rider, 
Methodism  spread  with  marvelous  rapidity  through  the 
western  country.  The  circuit-rider  was  a  minister 
who  had  several  churches  or  preaching  places  in  his 
charge,  around  to  which  he  went,  usually  on  horseback, 
sometimes  on  foot,  on  a  circuit  that  was  often  a  hundred 
miles  in  extent,  and  not  infrequently  more.  The 
pioneer  preachers  are  more  properly  called  itinerant, 
or  traveling  ministers,  than  circuit-riders,  since  there 
was  no  regular  circuit  established  until  some  churches 
or  companies  were  formed. 

These  itinerants  and  circuit-riders  were  often  men 
of  little  learning,  but  of  mighty  zeal.  They  endured 
privations  and  persecutions  that  would  have  daunted 
ordinary  men,  braving  the  terrors  of  the  wilderness  and 
the  even  more  terrible  vengeance  of  lawless  opposers, 
who  did  not  hesitate  to  beat  and  stone  them.  We  read 
concerning  one  of  these,  of  his  "  breakfasting  on  a  frozen 
turnip;  sleeping  at  night  in  a  wretched  cabin,  with 
his  head  in  the  chimney-corner;  fording  streams;  living 
on  the  poorest  fare;  preaching  in  cabins,  sometimes 
with  part  of  the  congregation  drunk,  at  others  with  chil- 
dren about  him  bawling  louder  than  he  could  speak; 
and  receiving,  for  the  four  months  of  his  toil,  three 
dollars  and  fourteen  cents."  Yet  he  writes,  "Though 
the  life  of  a  Methodist  preacher  is  very  laborious  and 
fatiguing,  it  is  what  I  glory  in!"2 

Stevens,  History  of  the  Methodist  Episcopal  Church,  p.  164. 
8  Id.  p.  300, 


Education  and  Religion  53 

These  Methodist  itinerants  received  little  pay,  often 
none.  Bishop  Asbury,  himself  the  head  of  the  church 
in  America  in  its  earliest  days,  and  who  set  the  example 
of  arduous  and  untiring  labor,  continually  traveling 
from  Maine  to  Georgia  and  from  the  seacoast  to  the 
western  frontier,  one  year  received,  we  read,  but  sixty 
dollars  in  money.  Often  worn  and  sick  in  body,  this 
great  leader  of  the  circuit-riding  brotherhood  pushed 
himself  on  by  sheer  force  of  will  and  fervor  of  love. 
Almost  every  year  after  1784,  Asbury  rode  over  the 
mountains  to  visit  and  strengthen  the  valley  churches, 
ministering  on  the  way  to  the  few  settlers  scattered 
along  the  French  Broad  River  in  North  Carolina,  down 
the  gorge  of  which  lay  his  way  to  the  Tennessee  settle- 
ments. He  records  that  he  was  "  strangely  outdone" 
for  want  of  sleep,  having  been  greatly  deprived  of  it 
through  the  wilderness,  "  which  is  like  being  at  sea  in 
some  respects,  and  in  others  worse.  Our  way  is  over 
mountains,  steep  hills,  deep  rivers,  and  muddy  creeks; 
a  thick  growth  of  reeds  for  miles  together,  and  no  inhab- 
itants but  wild  beasts  and  savage  men." 

The  freer  expression  of  religious  emotion  which  the 
Methodist  preachers  brought  into  their  services  appealed 
to  the  nature  of  the  frontiersmen,  who  without  doubt 
added  something  of  their  own  wildness  to  the  character 
of  the  western  meetings.  What  is  known  as  "the  Great 
Revival"  began  in  1800.  While  it  originated  and  was 
carried  on  most  fully  in  middle  Tennessee  and  Ken- 
tucky, its  influence  quickly  spread  into  the  valleys 
and  mountains,  and  in  time  into  the  Eastern  States. 

The  state  of  religion  among  the  mountaineers  and 
the  western  settlers  at  that  time  was  melancholy. 
What  churches  existed  were  for  the  most  part  cold  and 
formal,  with  ministers  of  the  same  character.  The 
doctrine  of  predestination,  held  by  both  the  Presbyterian 
and  the  Baptist  churches,  was  little  calculated  to  win 
men  from  that  life  of  wild  license  and  sin  which  the 
frontier  conditions  so  easily  induced.1 

JSee  Blake,  The  Old  Log  House,  pp.  14-18. 


54  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

Located  in  Logan  County,  Kentucky,  just  north 
of  the  Nashville  settlements,  was  a  Presbyterian  minister 
named  James  McGready.  Early  hi  his  life,  he  confesses, 
he  had  entered  the  ministry  without  being  converted. 
His  ministry,  naturally,  had  little  power.  One  night 
he  overheard  two  friends  talking  over  his  case,  with 
the  expressed  conviction  that  he  was  an  unconverted 
man.  This  set  him  to  thinking  and  closely  examining 
himself,  and  the  result  was,  a  little  later,  his  thorough 
conversion. 

A  few  years  later,  in  1796,  he  removed  from  North 
Carolina  to  Kentucky,  where  he  took  charge  of  three 
small  Presbyterian  congregations.  Abandoning  the  Cal- 
vinistic  view,  he  preached  a  gospel  of  free  salvation 
to  every  man  who  would  take  it.  Then  he  made  a 
covenant  with  his  believers  to  spend  one  Saturday  of 
every  month  for  a  year  praying  for  the  conversion  of 
sinners.  Within  a  year  a  work  of  revival  began,  but  it 
was  stopped  by  the  opposition  of  other  ministers.1  In 
the  summer  of  1799,  under  the  earnest  work  of  Mr. 
McGready,  the  revival  began  again.  "But,"  he  writes, 
"the  year  1800  exceeds  all  that  my  eyes  ever  beheld 
upon  earth.  All  that  I  have  related  is  only,  as  it  were, 
an  introduction.  Although  many  souls  hi  these  congre- 
gations during  the  three  preceding  years  have  been 
savingly  converted,  and  now  give  living  evidences  of 
then  union  to  Christ,  yet  all  that  work  is  only  like  a  few 
drops  before  a  mighty  rain,  when  compared  with  the 
wonders  of  Almighty  grace  that  took  place  in  the  year 
1800."2 

The  occasion  was  that  of  a  sacramental  meeting 
(the  Lord's  supper)  held  at  the  Red  River  church.  Two 
brothers,  William  and  John  McGee,  the  former  a  Pres- 
byterian and  the  latter  a  Methodist  minister,  started 
from  the  Nashville  country  on  a  preaching  tour  toward 

ild.,  p.  25;  McDonald,  History  of  the  Cumberland  Presbyterian 
Church,  pp.  39  ff. 

2  The  Old  Log  House,  p.  28. 


Education  and  Religion  55 

Ohio,  and  they  stopped  at  Red  River  for  the  com- 
munion.1 In  the  preaching  that  followed,  especially 
on  Monday,  hardened  sinners,  some  of  them  church- 
members,  were  broken  down.  There  came  a  tremendous 
power  upon  ministers  and  people.  In  the  midst  of  an 
intense  silence,  when  no  man  in  the  pulpit  could  find 
voice  to  speak,  a  woman  in  the  far  end  of  the  house 
cried  out  for  mercy.  Soon  nearly  the  whole  congrega- 
tion was  tremendously  exercised,  and  scores  were 
converted.  From  this  time  and  place  "  The  Great 
Revival"  spread. 

This  first  meeting  was  continued  for  some  days. 
One  man  brought  his  family  in  his  covered  wagon,  and 
camped  on  the  ground.  Soon  after,  a  meeting  was  held 
at  Muddy  River,  not  far  distant,  and  a  number  followed 
the  example  of  this  man,  some  camping  in  the  open, 
some  in  their  wagons,  and  a  few  beginning  to  use  tents, 
or  else  making  shelters  of  brush.  Thus  began  the  camp- 
meetings  of  America,  soon  to  spread  in  every  direction, 
even  back  into  the  Eastern  States. 

This  " Great  Revival"  spread  with  wonderful  power 
and  rapidity.  It  was  especially  fostered  by  the  Metho- 
dists, whose  ideas  were  not  opposed  to  its  somewhat 
extreme  manifestations.  The  Baptists  were  also  con- 
siderably affected  by  it,  and  great  revivals  took  place  in 
their  churches.  Among  the  Presbyterians,  the  opposi- 
tion of  church  authorities  led  to  the  secession  of  the  re- 
vivalists, who  formed  the  separate  church  known  as 
the  Cumberland  Presbyterians.3  The  two  chief  dif- 
ferences were  one  of  doctrine  and  one  of  policy.  In 
the  first  case,  the  new  church  differed  from  its  parent 
by  believing  in  a  general  rather  than  a  limited  atone- 
ment. In  the  second  case,  it  accepted  as  ministers 
men  who  had  not  received  the  finished  classical  educa- 
tion required  by  the  Presbyterian  Church.  The  COn- 
^edford,  Methodism  in  Kentucky,  p.  265. 

2  McDonald,  History  of  the  Cumberland  Presbyterian  Church,  pp. 
39  ff. 


56  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

ditions  of  the  frontier,  and  the  feeling  of  some  men  of 
limited  education  that  they  were  impelled  to  preach 
the  gospel,  seemed  to  these  revivalists  to  be  a  call  from 
God  for  more  liberal  views.  And  so  there  went  out  to 
preach  the  gospel  men  often  lacking  in  outward  polish, 
but  filled  with  fire  for  the  salvation  of  souls. 

This  character,  indeed,  came  to  be  typical  of  western 
preachers  in  all  denominations,  but  particularly  among 
the  Methodists.  Some  of  the  men  most  powerful  in  their 
mission  were  neither  scholars  nor  great  students,  ex- 
cept of  their  Bibles.  "  Brother  Gwin,"  said  an  educated 
young  minister  from  the  East  to  one  of  these  men,  "how 
is  it  that  you  are  ever  prepared  to  preach?  You  seem 
to  be  seldom  in  your  study,  and  scarcely  ever  read." 

"Oh,  my  son,"  replied  the  frontier  giant,  "you  do 
not  understand  it:  you  preachers  of  your  class  have  to 
read  and  study  books  to  master  your  subjects,  but  I 
know  what  the  books  are  made  of  before]  they  are 
printed!" 

Many  were  the  famous  characters  produced  on  the 
circuits  of  those  days,  men  fearless  in  danger,  unweary- 
ing in  labor,  enduring  in  privation,  powerful  in  exhor- 
tation, ready  in  wit,  and  often  prepared  to  use  physical 
as  well  as  spiritual  muscle  in  their  combats  with  the  devil 
and  his  human  agents. 

Among  the  most  eccentric  and  most  successful  was 
Lorenzo  Dow,  a  roving  preacher  whose  work  was  not 
confined  to  the  mountains  nor  the  frontier;  for  though 
he  labored  from  among  the  high  peaks  of  North  Caro- 
lina to  the  banks  of  the  Mississippi,  and  from  Georgia 
to  Canada,  he  was  well  known  also  along  the  Atlantic 
coast  and  even  in  England  and  Ireland.  Restless  and 
eager,  he  continually  traveled,  nor  would  he  marry  until 
he  had  found  a  young  woman  who  would  cheerfully 
promise  that  she  would  spare  him  from  home  twelve 
months  out  of  thirteen.1 


proposal  of  marriage  ran  as  follows:  "If  I  am  preserved,  about 
a  year  and  a  half  from  now  I  am  in  hopes  of  seeing  this  northern  country 


Education  and  Religion  57 

Lorenzo  Dow  journeyed,  sometimes  on  horseback, 
often  on  foot,  sometimes  well  tricked  out  in  new  clothing 
by  his  friends,  only  to  return  from  a  journey  of  hun- 
dreds of  miles  in  rags,  and  with  everything  of  value 
either  stolen  or  pawned,  but  feeling  successful  hi  that 
he  had  preached  the  gospel  to  those  who  would  other- 
wise never  have  heard  it  —  settlers,  desperadoes,  In- 
dians. Many  a  tune  he  was  offered  money  or  other 
valuables  which  he  would  not  take,  lest  he  be  called, 
as  he  says,  "an  impostor"  who  loved  money  rather  than 
souls.  Later,  he  himself  made  hundreds  of  dollars 
by  the  sale  of  some  of  his  books,  which  he  would  fre- 
quently give  for  the  building  of  meeting-houses  or  other 
pin-poses  of  the  church. 

His  sermons  were  often  eccentric  in  form  and  matter, 
yet  always  powerful.  Though  endeared  to  the  rough 
people  of  the  mountains  and  backwoods,  he  not  infre- 
quently scandalized  the  more  conventional  of  his  Metho- 
dist brethren,  as  when  he  one  day  announced  to  an 
impenitent  crowd  that  having  just  preached  from  the 
Word  of  the  Lord,  which  they  rejected,  he  would  the 
next  day  preach  to  them  from  the  word  of  the  devil 
—  and  did  so  from  Luke  4:6,  7. 

He  traveled  to  the  most  out-of-the-way  places  to 
carry  the  gospel,  crossing  the  North  Carolina  mountains 
into  Tennessee  for  the  sole  purpose  of  preaching  to  the 
one  lone  settlement  in  those  mountains,  Buncombe 
Court-house  (now  Asheville);  and  delving  with  equal 
zeal  into  the  mazes  of  West  Virginia,  where  he  made 
an  appointment  to  return  and  preach  in  exactly  thirteen 
months,  on  such  a  day  and  at  such  an  hour,  an  appoint- 


again;  and  if  during  this  time  you  live  and  remain  single,  and  find  no  one 
that  you  like  better  than  you  do  me,  and  would  be  willing  to  give  me  up 
twelve  months  out  of  thirteen,  or  three  years  out  of  four,  to  travel,  and 
that  in  foreign  lands,  and  never  say,  Do  not  go  to  your  appointment, 
etc. —  for  if  you  should  stand  in  the  way,  I  should  pray  to  God  to  remove 
you,  which  I  believe  he  would  answer  —  and  if  I  find  no  one  that  I  like 
better  than  I  do  you,  perhaps  something  further  may  be  said  upon  the 
subject." — The  Life  of  Lorenzo  Dow,  by  himself,  p.  152. 


58  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

ment  which  he  filled  most  punctually.  It  was  his 
custom,  indeed,  to  give  out  a  string  of  appointments  a 
year  or  more  ahead,  and  to  meet  them  scrupulously 
on  time,  though  he  might  have  to  travel  from  Canada 
to  Mississippi  to  do  it,  sometimes  in  a  pinch  traveling 
for  several  days  and  nights  in  succession,  through  mud, 
rain,  and  cold,  going  from  carriage  to  horse  and  then  to 
foot,  in  order  to  be  at  the  appointed  place  on  tune. 

He  was  constantly  dreaming  dreams  that  forecast 
events  for  him,  and  he  believed  he  had  what  the  Scotch 
call  "  second  sight,"  and  that  he  could  sometimes  fore- 
tell events  for  others,  and  even  read  the  secrets  of  their 
lives.  But  despite  his  oddities,  he  was  a  most  thoroughly 
consecrated  and  successful  Christian  laborer,  and  thou- 
sands were  reclaimed  to  the  Master  whose  sheriff  he  pro- 
claimed himself  to  be,  and  in  whose  name  he  offered  a 
great  reward  for  the  "  runaways  whose  marks  he  would 
now  describe." 

It  was  in  this  southwestern  country,  especially  in  the 
great  camp-meetings,  under  the  powerful  exhortations 
of  such  famous  preachers  as  James  B.  Finley,  Jesse 
Walker,  and  Peter  Cartwright,  that  the  peculiar  phys- 
ical manifestations  known  as  "the  jerks"  began  to  appear. 
In  the  midst  of  his  discourse  the  preacher  was  apt  to 
see  various  ones  begin  nodding  or  jumping  or  jerking 
more  and  more  vigorously,  and  the  infection  was  likely 
to  spread  until  almost  the  whole  congregation  would 
be  affected.  Sometimes  the  head  was  snapped  back- 
ward and  forward  so  rapidly  that  it  would  seem  the  neck 
must  be  dislocated;  or  the  limbs  and  even  the  whole 
body  would  be  jerked  so  violently  that  the  person  could 
keep  his  feet  only  by  grasping  a  tree  or  some  other  ob- 
ject and  holding  on  desperately.  No  uncommon  sight 
was  a  clearing  next  the  log  church,  in  which  everything 
had  been  removed  except  saplings  cut  breast-high,  to 
which  the  victims  might  resort  to  jerk.  Or  sometimes 
the  seizure  would  set  a  person  to  dancing,  slowly,  it  is 
said,  and  with  grace. 


Education  and  Religion  59 

"The  jerks"  affected  the  converted  as  well  as  the 
impenitent,  but  with  different  effects.  Those  who 
yielded  themselves  to  it  felt  no  discomfort,  even  though 
their  contortions  were  alarming  to  the  onlookers,  but 
those  who  resisted  it  would  experience  much  pain,  and 
even  at  times  be  injured  by  the  exercise.  Often  by  this 
means  scoffers  and  hardened  sinners  were  brought  to  the 
penitent  seat. 

The  strange  phenomenon  was  doubtless  due  to  ex- 
treme nervous  excitement  in  simple,  uncontrolled  na- 
tures. It  was  not  consciously  induced  by  the  preachers, 
who  at  first  looked  upon  it  with  suspicion  and  aversion, 
but  who  came  finally  to  accept  it  as  something  beyond 
their  control  and  often  of  value  in  their  work  for  the 
people.  Its  manifestation  passed  away  within  a  few 
years. 

The  solid  work  of  the  circuit-riding  minister  was 
manifested  in  the  religious  character  given  to  the  west- 
ern country,  which  in  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury was  found,  on  the  whole,  much  more  open  to 
religious  influences  and  to  the  reception  of  truth  than  was 
the  more  staid  and  settled  East.  To  this  day  the  South, 
and  especially  the  mountain  country,  is  remarkable  for 
its  religious  spirit. 

The  great  mass  of  the  mountaineers  today  belong 
to  either  the  Baptist  or  the  Methodist  Church,  and  their 
religion  is  the  fervid,  soul-storming  religion  of  the  pioneer 
days.  To  them  and  to  their  preachers,  hell  and  heaven 
are  very  real  places,  and  the  way  to  avoid  the  one  and 
secure  the  other  is  through  the  process  of  regeneration, 
preferably,  because  most  easily,  at  the  semi-annual 
protracted  meeting.  The  fervor  of  their  proceedings  in 
these  meetings  —  shouting,  crying,  moaning,  stamping, 
and  clapping,  is  apt  to  strike  harshly  upon  the  more 
staid  religionist,  but  the  sincerity  of  the  worshipers 
is  not  to  be  questioned. 

Yet  there  are  many,  in  the  more  isolated  sections, 
who  have  not  even  the  benefit  of  these  services.  Thou- 


60  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

sands  there  are  who  seldom  hear  the  voice  of  prayer, 
who  have  never  seen  a  Bible,  and  who  could  not  read  it  if 
they  had  it.  The  story  is  told  of  a  minister  visiting  for 
the  first  time  one  of  these  homes  far  back  in  the  moun- 
tains, and  there  to  a  little  family  telling  the  story  of  the 
Cross.  They  followed  him  with  rapt  faces;  and  when 
he  had  concluded,  the  mother,  leaning  toward  him, 
whispered  hoarsely: 

"  Stranger,  you  say  all  this  happened  a  long  time  ago?" 
"Yes,"  he  said,  " almost  two  thousand  years  ago." 
"And  they  nailed  him  to  that  thar  tree  when  he 
hadn't  done  nothing  to  hurt  'em;  only  jest  loved  ?em?" 
"Yes." 

She  leaned  farther  and  placed  her  hand  impressively 
upon  his  knee.  "Wai,  stranger,"  she  said,  the  tears 
standing  in  her  eyes,  "let's  hope  hit  ain't  so!"1 

There  is  no  more  promising  field,  both  for  true  re- 
ligion and  for  education,  than  in  the  mountains  of  the 
South.  Its  people  believe  in  religion  and  long  for  edu- 
cation. Their  heritage  of  body  and  mind  is  the  best 
of  earth's;  and  they  need  but  the  help  it  should  delight 
Christians  to  give,  to  make  of  them  the  most  worthy 
recruits  for  Christian  service. 


1  John  Fox,  Jr.,  Blue-Grass  and  Rhododendron,  p.  23. 


V 


THE  MODERN  MOUNTAINEER 

THE  conditions  of  colonial  life  persist  today  in  a  very 
considerable  part  of  the  mountains.  This  is  par- 
ticularly true  of  the  southern  Appalachians.  Those 
portions  of  the  Appalachian  system  which  lie  in  the 
Northern  States  are  less  isolated  and  have  partaken 
more  of  the  life  about  them;  but  from  Virginia  to 
Georgia  and  Alabama  the  broad  extent  of  mountain 
and  plateau  have  conspired  with  political  and  social 
causes  to  keep  the  mountaineer  separate  and  to  keep  him 
back,  until  he  has  come  to  represent  a  distinct  type  of 
American. 

The  southern  mountain  country  embraces  an  area  of 
101,880  square  miles,  this  reckoning  including  35  coun- 
ties of  West  Virginia,  4  of  Maryland,  42  of  Virginia,  28 
of  Kentucky,  46  of  Tennessee,  24  of  North  Carolina, 
4  of  South  Carolina,  26  of  Georgia,  and  17  of  Alabama. 
This  section  is  about  600  miles  long  and  averages  200 
miles  in  breadth.  It  is  twice  as  large  as  the  State  of  New 
York;  it  would  cover  New  England,  New  Jersey,  Dela- 
ware, and  two  Marylands;  and  is  much  larger  than  Eng- 
land, Wales,  and  Scotland  together.  Its  population  is 
somewhat  over  four  million,  more  than  twice  as  many 
as  the  thirteen  colonies  held  at  the  time  of  the  Revo- 
lution, yet  little  more  today  than  the  State  of  Ohio 
(which  has  an  area  of  less  than  half  that  of  the  moun- 

(61) 


62  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

tains),  and  it  is  less  than  the  city  of  Greater  New  York. 

Four  million  souls  are  too  many  to  neglect,  and  their 
value  and  importance  to  American  and  Christian  life 
are  enhanced,  not  lessened,  by  their  scattered  state. 
The  closer  men  crowd  together,  the  less  power  does  the 
individual  have,  both  because  of  his  environment  and 
because  of  his  education;  but  a  people  spread  out  until 
every  man  has  room  for  development  of  thought  and  re- 
source, is  a  people  of  whom  "one  of  the  least  is  over  a 
hundred,  and  the  greatest  over  a  thousand." 

It  is  not  to  be  understood,  however,  that  all  these 
four  million  are  ignorant  or  poverty-stricken  or  helpless. 
This  enumeration  includes  the  valley-dwellers  as  well 
as  those  on  the  mountain  tops,  and  as  they  range  from 
owners  of  rich  bottom  lands  to  those  of  thin,  rocky  peaks, 
so  in  practically  the  same  order  they  range  from  pros- 
perous and  cultured  modern  citizens  to  ill -nourished 
and  backward  men  who  need  help. 

For  convenience  the  mountaineers  may  be  divided 
into  three  classes,  though  this  is  a  rather  arbitrary  ar- 
rangement, since  the  types  and  classes  are  much  more 
varied,  shading  almost  imperceptibly  into  one  another. 

In  the  first  class  are  the  prosperous  valley-dwellers, 
descendants  for  the  most  part  of  those  early  settlers 
who  had  the  first  choice  of  the  best  locations.  The  val- 
leys of  Virginia  and  Tennessee  contain  not  only  fertile 
farms,  but  cities  like  Staunton,  Roanoke,  Bristol,  Knox- 
ville,  and  Chattanooga.  In  the  same  class  may  be  put 
such  a  broad  and  accessible  section  as  the  French  Broad 
Plateau  in  North  Carolina,  with  Asheville,  its  metropolis, 
and  other  prosperous  cities. 

The  people  who  constitute  this  class  are  abreast 
of  other  thriving  sections  of  the  United  States.  They 
have  the  same  comforts,  the  same  educational,  social, 
and  wealth-producing  opportunities,  and  they  consti- 
tute one  of  the  most  important  elements  in  the  progress 
of  the  South  and  of  the  nation.  Their  ability,  enter- 
prise, and  prosperity  are  a  promise  of  what  other  moun- 


The  Modern   Mountaineer  63 

tain  classes  may  become  with  equal  opportunities. 
Upon  the  corn  and  wheat  lands  of  the  valleys  and  the 
river  bottoms  may  be  seen  the  latest  farm  machinery, 
drawn  by  big  Percheron  horses  or  heavy  mules.  Here 
and  there,  even, .  is  seen  the  traction  engine,  pulling 
gang-plows  and  harrows.  Large  dairy  barns  and  silos 
are  no  unusual  sight,  and  in  some  sections  fine  herds 
and  flocks  or  beautiful  orchards  and  vineyards  proclaim 
the  cause  of  the  prosperity  typified  in  roomy,  com- 
fortable, and  up-to-date  dwellings. 

Besides  agriculture,  which  remains  the  chief  industry, 
there  are  other  important  interests  —  mining,  lumber- 
ing, and  manufacturing.  The  economic  advantages  of 
this  section  are  being  more  fully  realized  and  exploited 
every  day,  not  always  to  the  moral  nor  even  the  finan- 
cial advantage  of  the  mountaineer. 

As  a  rule,  these  prosperous  mountaineers  are  inter- 
ested in  their  poorer  and  less  fortunate  neighbors,  who, 
while  more  abundant  in  isolated  regions,  are  yet  to  a 
considerable  degree  scattered  among  them. 

" Foreign  missions!'7  exclaimed  a  bank  president 
and  church  deacon  who  was  no  Missionary  Baptist, 
"  talk  to  me  of  sending  my  dollars  along  with  your  preach- 
ers to  the  heathen,  when  every  day  I  deal  with  men  who 
can't  write  their  names,  who  can't  scratch  together 
enough  hog  and  hominy  to  keep  their  children,  and  whose 
only  prayers  are  cuss  words !  Start  a  work  to  teach  these 
men  and  then*  children  how  to  live  like  Christians  in 
this  Christian  land,  and  you  have  my  support.  That's 
my  foreign  mission!" 

The  mountaineer  employer,  be  he  small  or  great, 
generally  has  hi  him  not  so  much  a  philanthropy  as  a 
benevolence  toward  the  people  he  employs.  His  sym- 
pathies go  out  to  the  individual  rather  than  the  group. 
He  may  in  times  of  stress  exclaim  against  the  shiftless- 
ness  or  the  small  necessities  of  his  employees,  which  per- 
mit them  to  knock  off  work  at  a  critical  time.  He  may 
rage  against  the  independence  and  the  sensitiveness  of 


64  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

a  race  who  will  hardly  stoop  to  service  and  never  to  any- 
thing they  count  humiliation  or  insult.  But  when  it 
comes  to  dealing  with  the  individual,  he  is  lenient  to 
faults  and  generous  to  needs. 

Take,  for  example,  Mr.  George,  the  manager  of  a 
well  equipped  plant  in  the  North  Carolina  mountains, 
whose  workmen  not  infrequently  felt  the  need  of  some- 
thing more  diverting  than  humdrum  labor,  and  whose 
sprees  and  escapades  were  a  matter  of  constant  exas- 
peration to  their  long-suffering  employer. 

"There's  that  Zeb  Bean/7  he  confided  one  evening 
to  a  visitor  in  his  home.  "Got  a  wife  and  six  children. 
Sick  for  two  months  this  fall,  and  the  company  car- 
ried him  along  through  it  all.  But  when  he  gets  well 
and  earning  again,  what  do  you  think  he  does? — Buys 
little  gewgaws  to  hang  round  his  children's  necks  when 
they're  needing  shoes,  and  runs  an  account  at  the  com- 
pany store  for  corn-meal  and  bacon,  while,  if  he  gets  a 
dollar,  he  dives  straight  for  a  blind  tiger.  And  I  told 
him, '  Now,  Zeb,  you Ve  got  to  let  liquor  alone,  and  you've 
got  to  walk  straight  if  you  don't  want  to  get  fired.' 

"Comes  Christmas,  and  Zeb  pipes  up  for  a  dollar. 
'What  for?'  I  says.  'Want  to  celebrate,'  he  says,  'it's 
Christmas,  and  I  got  to  celebrate,  ain't  I?'  'You'll 
celebrate  by  keeping  sober  and  reducing  your  account,' 
I  told  him.  But  what  does  the  fellow  do?  Somewhere 
or  other  he  gets  hold  of  a  dime,  buys  that  much  black 
powder,  and  fills  an  old  wagon-skein  with  it.  His  slow 
match  proves  a  fast  one,  and  he  blows  two  fingers  off 
his  right  hand,  and  lays  himself  up  for  another  six 
weeks.  And  now  who's  going  to  take  care  of  him  this 
time,  I'd  like  to  know." 

"Oh,  you  are,  of  course!"  said  his  wife,  with  a  quiet 
little  laugh.  Mr  George's  wrath  collapsed  into  a  mellow 
chuckle,  that  bespoke  repentance  for  his  indignation, 
indulgence  for  his  erring  employee.  "I  reckon  I  am," 
he  said. 

Next  morning,  over  the  frozen  ground,  there  came 


Relief  Map  of  Appalachia. 

"  The  mountains  of  Appalachia  run  in  two  great  parallel 
ranges ."      Page  79. 


tfi 


The   Modern   Mountaineer  65 

to  the  door  a  barefooted  little  boy  whose  ostensible 
errand  was  a  transparent  excuse.  He  was  brought  in 
to  the  fire,  and  warmed  and  fed  and  talked  with,  and 
laden  for  home  with  a  basket  packed  by  the  good  lady 
of  the  house  with  substantiate  and  delicacies. 

"  How's  your  papa,  son?  Tell  him  to  hurry  up  and 
get  well.  Tell  him,  '  Don't  worry,  everything  will  be 
all  right/  "  cooed  the  stern  magnate  of  last  evening. 
The  barefooted  boy  was  a  son  of  Zeb. 

Such  charity  as  a  practise  may  not  be  according  to 
the  modern  theories  of  scientific  philanthropy,  wherein 
a  departmented  bureau  lists  cases,  investigates  appeals, 
sifts  evidences,  collects  gifts,  distributes  bundles,  and 
presides  over  mass  dinners.  Undiscerning  personal 
charity,  we  hear,  robs  the  giver  and  pauperizes  the  re- 
cipient. It  may  have  that  effect  among  those  huddles 
of  humanity  that  are  the  dregs  of  civilization;  and, 
despite  the  natural  independence  of  the  highlander, 
it  may  have  that  tendency  in  the  mountains.  But 
one  thing  is  certain,  it  accords  more  nearly  with  the  let- 
ter, and  —  our  hearts  tell  us — with  the  spirit  of  the 
Master's  teachings;  and  its  prevalence  in  the  mountains 
among  both  rich  and  poor  makes  an  atmosphere  of 
brotherhood  that  may  possibly  count  for  more  than 
scientific  exactness.  Efforts  for  the  betterment  of  the 
poorer  mountain  classes,  be  they  free-handed  or  card- 
cataloged,  will  find  among  the  prosperous  mountain- 
eers a  strong  support. 

In  the  second  class  may  be  put  those  who  occupy 
sections  less  accessible,  and  yet  of  fair  natural  advan- 
tages. There  are  people  in  little  valleys  and  considerable 
plateaus  who,  if  they  had  access  to  good  markets  and 
to  the  advantages  of  a  broader  life,  would  be  not  at  all 
behind  the  rest  of  the  world,  but  who,  because  they  have 
not  such  access,  live  to  a  great  extent  in  then*  own  world, 
comfortable,  easy,  though  usually  hard-working,  shut 
in  to  a  live  but  rather  narrow  world  that  has  little  knowl- 
edge of  things  outside,  and  not  much  concern  for  them. 

5 


66  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

Many  of  this  class  are  fairly  well-to-do,  but  their  stand- 
ards of  living  correspond  more  fully  to  those  of  the  eight- 
eenth century  than  to  those  of  the  twentieth.  They  are 
content  with  poor  housing,  meager  equipment,  and 
unenterprising  methods  of  work. 

With  others,  this  condition,  irrespective  of  choice, 
is  the  necessity  of  their  poverty.  They  may  own  a 
" beast,'7  which  means  a  horse  or  a  mule,  but  just  as 
likely  then-  dependence  for  plowing  and  hauling  is  on 
a  "jinny"  or  an  ox.  The  one-horse  wagon  is  coming  to 
be  very  common,  yet  beyond  the  land  of  good  roads 
the  home-made  sled,  with  runners  hewn  from  the  tough 
sourwood,  is  made  to  bear  the  burdens  too  heavy  for 
bent  shoulders.  The  one-horse  turning  plow,  preferably 
the  reversible  hillside  plow,  has  taken  the  place  of  our 
grandfather's  wooden  share  (discarded  specimens  of 
which  may  still  be  found  in  the  mountains),  but  it  is 
far  from  having  driven  out  the  "bull-tongue,"  which 
may  be  described  as  a  single-toothed  cultivator  with 
wide-flaring  wings.  With  many  men,  this  plow  is  their 
sole  horse  tool,  being  used  first  to  scrabble  the  ground 
two  or  three  inches  deep  for  the  planting,  and  after- 
wards, along  with  the  heavy  iron  hand  hoe,  to  cultivate 
the  crop.  Add  to  these  implements  the  ax  and  the  gun, 
and  you  have  fairly  represented  the  complete  mechan- 
ical equipment  of  the  far-back  mountaineer. 

There  are  fields,  indeed,  too  steep  for  any  plow  to 
cultivate  or  any  beast  to  work  upon,  and  there  the  soil 
is  never  touched  except  with  the  hoe.  John  Fox  is  not 
to  be  accused  of  hyperbole  when  he  tells  of  one  who 
broke  his  neck  by  falling  out  of  his  own  cornfield.  Such 
fields  are  usually  good  for  only  one  or  two  seasons  of 
cultivation  after  having  been  cleared  of  then-  forest 
growth.  By  that  tune  their  fertility  has  mostly  dis- 
appeared, half  of  it  upward  into  the  corn,  half  down- 
ward into  the  creek.  If  the  owner  can  afford  to  seed  it, 
he  may  keep  his  field  as  a  permanent  pasture,  but  he 
will  do  better  to  let  it  grow  up  to  natural  grass  and  brush. 


The  Modern   Mountaineer  67 

Such  fields,  it  goes  without  saying,  are  not  the  moun- 
taineer's preference,  nor  are  they  any  large  part  of  the 
farm  lands.  "Hobson's  choice"  they  are  to  the  man 
whose  level  land  consists  of  a  few  irregular  square  rods 
of  "  branch  bottom." 

The  typical  home  is  the  log  cabin.  Year  by  year, 
as  the  capital  and  enterprise  of  the  outside  world  push 
farther  back,  eating  up  the  resources  of  the  mountains, 
some  of  that  world's  fashions  and  a  little  of  its  money 
come  to  change  the  standards  of  living.  So,  where  yes- 
terday the  frame  dwelling,  when  it  appeared  at  all,  was 
the  mark  of  the  great  man  of  the  community,  today  it 
is  elbowing  and  shoving  its  humble  log  neighbor  back 
into  the  coves  and  through  the  gaps.  Yet  the  latter  is 
still  so  greatly  in  the  majority  that  it  has  right  to  give 
its  name  to  its  land — "The  log-cabin  country." 

The  log  house  is  of  all  sizes  and  of  all  degrees  of  ex- 
cellence, but  its  unit  is  the  single  room,  rough-floored 
and  ceiled,  with  a  big  stone  chimney  at  one  end,  a  door 
at  front  and  one  at  back,  and  possibly  a  window  or  two. 
A  narrow  front  porch  of  plank,  and  a  lean-to  of  the  same 
material  at  the  back,  represent  the  first  improvements.1 
As  prosperity  attends  him,  the  mountaineer  may  add 
another  log  room  or  two  alongside  the  first,  covering 
them  with  one  roof,  and  usually  leaving  an  open  passage- 
way between  them. 

The  stone  chimney,  when  carefully  and  conscien- 
tiously made,  is  a  thing  of  beauty  and  a  joy  forever. 
Often  composed  of  hewn  stone,  and  hiding  a  great  part 
of  the  cabin's  end  with  its  broad  base,  it  stands  the 
symbol  of  stability  and  massive  beauty.  Within,  as 
you  face  its  flaming,  glowing  depths,  the  abode  of  warmth 
and  cheer  and  savory  cooking,  you  speedily  become 
as  much  its  devotee  as  the  veriest  child  of  the  land. 

"I  ain't  no  use,"  declares  Uncle  John  Andrews,  "for 

lln  the  mountains  the  sawed  "boards"  of  the  North,  no  matter 
how  thin,   are  "plank,"   while  "boards"  are  the  hand-rived 
that  cover  the  roof. 


68  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

these  here  little  ginky  black  sheet-iron  contraptions 
they  calls  stoves.  I  cain't  git  proper  heat  lessen  I  kin 
see  fire.  Set  up  a  stove,  and  y're  in  a  black  hell.  They 
ain't  no  place  to  set,  and  they  ain't  no  place  to  luk, 
and  they  ain't  no  place  to  spit!  Gi'  me  a  fireplace,  er 
turn  me  out  o'  doors."  And  in  this  land  of  forests, 
certainly  there  can  be  no  excuse  for  abolishing  just 
yet  that  maker  of  the  home,  the  open  fireplace. 

The  house  itself  is  almost  certain  to  be  of  hewn  logs; 
that  is,  hewn  on  two  sides,  one  to  face  inward  for  a 
somewhat  smooth  wall,  and  one  to  face  outward  to 
give  an  appearance  of  finish  to  the  building.  Few  take 
the  trouble  to  square  the  log  on  all  four  sides.  The  round 
sides  are  turned  toward  each  other,  and  the  cracks 
made  by  their  failure  to  meet  are  chinked  with  wedges 
of  wood  and  wet  clay  or  mortar.  Important  crevices 
which  appear  in  tune  may  be  plugged  up;  unimportant 
chinks  help  in  the  ventilation,  in  which  the  wide  fire- 
place and  the  open  door  are  the  most  important  fac- 
tors. 

The  habit  of  open-door  is  a  daytime  habit,  born  both 
of  hospitality  and  of  desire  for  light  and  air.  At  night 
the  door  is  shut  and  fastened,  doubtless  a  precaution 
that  dates  from  the  days  of  Indian  warfare,  and  yet  one 
not  unmixed  many  times  with  a  fear  of  night  air.  If 
the  beds  be  in  the  room  with  the  fireplace,  however, 
as  some  of  them  usually  are,  there  can  be  no  complete 
stoppage  of  ventilation;  for  there  are  bound  to  be  cracks 
somewhere,  and  a  wide  and  warm  chimney  throat  to 
take  the  draft  up  and  out. 

Hospitality  is  a  cardinal  virtue  of  the  mountaineer. 
He  usually  has  a  spare  bed  for  company.  If  not,  and  he 
knows  you  cannot  fare  better  at  a  neighbor's,  he  will 
make  sure  that  you  are  accommodated,  though  the 
children  or  his  wife  and  himself  have  to  sleep  upon 
the  floor.  The  farther  back  in  the  mountains,  the  truer 
this  is;  nearness  to  cities  and  the  railroads  and  the  in- 
coming "furriner"  have  made  the  mountaineer  both 


The   Modern   Mountaineer  69 

more  suspicious  of  his  ability  to  please  the  tastes  of  the 
stranger,  and  more  greedy  of  the  stranger 's  money. 
It  is  indeed  rather  uncommon  now-a-days,  except  in 
some  of  the  most  out-of-the-way  places,  to  receive  ac- 
commodation free.  A  quarter  or  a  half-dollar  is  usu- 
ally expected  for  a  night's  lodging  with  meals.  But 
for  all  that,  the  log  cabin  wears  no  air  of  the  hostelry. 
If  the  stranger  knows  how  to  fit  in  with  his  fellow-men, 
he  gets  from  his  stay  in  the  log-cabin  home  a  warmth 
of  welcome,  a  freedom  of  spirit,  but  slightly  bitten  by 
the  tinge  of  barter  that  comes  with  the  passing  of  sil- 
ver. 

The  traveler  fresh  from  the  pampering  homes  and 
restaurants  of  the  cities,  may  find  the  mountain  fare 
meager.  It  is  at  least  the  habit  of  the  mountaineer  — 
primed,  perhaps,  by  experience  —  to  offer  his  hospitality 
with  an  apology  for  its  plainness:  "You-all  are  sure 
welcome  ef  you  can  eq'al  our  fare."  Yet  in  season 
one  may  find  at  many  a  table  a  surprizing  variety  and 
in  superabundance.  What  the  mountaineer  eats,  for 
the  most  part  he  raises  on  his  own  land,  "hog  and 
hominy"  being  the  most  common  staples,  supplemented 
by  a  greater  or  smaller  variety  of  vegetables,  grains, 
and  fruits,  according  to  the  enterprise  of  the  individual. 

Though  the  cook-stove  is  a  not  uncommon  possession, 
even  of  the  far  back  mountaineer,  the  fireplace  is 
the  standby  of  perhaps  the  majority  of  the  cooks.  The 
iron  pot  of  our  great  grandmothers  yet  swings  on  the 
crane  in  the  mountain  fireplace,  and  the  "Dutch  oven", 
or  "bake  kettle,"  as  it  is  most  commonly  called  hi  the 
mountains,  still  does  its  duty  amidst  the  glowing  coals 
on  the  hearth.  Have  you  ever  eaten  real  corn  pone 
—  white  corn  meal,  cold  water,  and  salt,  patted  into  a 
long,  thick  cake,  and  deposited  with  its  twin  in  the  bake 
kettle,  to  remain  till  it  comes  out  a  golden  brown,  crisp, 
crumbly,  nutty,  and  altogether  sweet  with  the  natural 
sweetness  of  the  corn?  Such  corn  pone  is  first  cousin, 
at  least,  with  the  cakes  that  angels  ate  in  the  hospitable 


70  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

pilgrims'  tent  on  the  plains  of  Mamre.  Not  so  tempting 
is  the  fried  pork  or  the  grease-soaked  beans  that  usu- 
ally accompany  it;  but  the  stranger  of  simple  habits 
may,  if  his  mind  agree,  fare  sumptuously  every  day  and 
grow  fat  with  corn  pone  and  sweet  milk  or  buttermilk. 
Moreover,  nearly  everywhere  in  the  mountains,  and 
nearly  always,  he  may  be  "  comforted  with  apples." 

In  the  corner  or  on  the  porch  of  many  a  home  stands 
the  spinning-wheel.  Its  hours  of  duty  today  are  not  so 
many  as  in  generations  past;  for  though  occasionally 
a  loom  may  be  found  to  weave  its  welcome  threads  into 
linsey-woolsey  and  jeans,  homespun  has  for  the  most 
part  retreated  before  the  cheap  " store  goods";  and 
carding  and  spinning  have  more  regard  to  the  need  of 
socks  and  mittens  than  of  shirts  and  dresses.  Buckskin 
and  coonskin  also  have  surrendered  to  the  shoe  and  hat 
industries  of  the  lowlanders.  Yet  still  the  mountaineer 
keeps  much  of  the  skill  and  ingenuity  which  charac- 
terized our  independent  forefathers,  and  with  his  ax 
and  knife  makes  himself  the  chief  part  of  America's 
waning  guild  of  home  arts  and  crafts. 

The  educational  and  religious  advantages  of  these 
mountaineers  are  not  overgreat.  The  mountain  school 
may  run  three  or  four  months  in  the  year;  the  circuit- 
rider  comes  once  or  twice  a  month  to  the  little  log  church. 
Protracted  meeting  in  spring  and  fall  (neighborhood 
equivalent  for  the  old-tune  camp-meeting)  is  the  great 
emotional  outlet  of  natures  at  other  times  pent  within 
the  barriers  of  a  stern  self-control  or  a  wistful  shame. 

Also,  there  is  the  singing-school,  attended  mostly 
by  the  young  people.  The  singing-master,  that  modern 
successor  of  the  old-time  bard,  goes  peripateting  from 
settlement  to  settlement,  calling  together  at  the  school- 
house  or  church  such  musical  souls  as  have  been  stirred 
at  the  country  dance  with  "Old  Dan  Tucker,"  or  at  the 
revival  with  "I  Feel  Like  Traveling  On."  High,  sweet 
voices  have  many  of  these  lasses,  though  unfortunately 
sometimes  spoiled  by  the  effort  to  shout  in  singing. 


The   Modern   Mountaineer  71 

And  as  for  the  boys,  if  it  were  not  for  the  tobacco  which 
makes  some  of  their  voices  husky,  there  could  be  no 
clearer,  sweeter,  farther-carrying  melody  than  the  sing- 
ing and  the  yodeling  that  come  out  of  the  early  and 
sometimes  the  late  night. 

The  singing-master  holds  perhaps  a  ten  days'  school, 
and  with  his  shaped  notes1  and  his  rousing  time  and 
his  very  real  enthusiasm,  he  does  no  little  service  in 
fitting  the  class  of  Bethany  Church  for  the  singing  con- 
test next  winter  with  North  Star  Church  over  in  Wild- 
cat Holler. 

As  for  the  school,  that  fares  according  to  public 
sentiment.  The  state  furnishes  a  three  or  four,  or  even 
six  months7  term  of  school,  and  the  districts  are  usually 
small  enough  to  make  the  farthest  home  but  two  or  three 
miles  distant.  Yet  in  some  places  the  population  is 
so  sparse  that  the  distances  must  be  far  greater,  and 
if  you  go  far  enough  into  the  recesses  of  the  hills,  you 
will  find  plenty  of  children  who  never  have  gone  to  school 
and  bid  fan-  never  to  go.  Yet  the  parents  are  almost 
always  eager  for  their  children  to  go  to  school;  that  is, 
after  "laying-by  time"  and  outside  " fodder-pulling 
time,"  and  when  it  is  not  too  cold.  The  temperature 
rarely  reaches  zero  in  the  Southern  mountains  for  even 
one  night,  but  thin  clothing  and  sometimes  entire  ab- 
sence of  shoes  and  stockings  make  a  20°  or  30°  mark 
forbidding  weather  to  careful  parents.  To  avoid  the 
severest  parts  of  the  winter,  school  usually  is  begun  in 
July  or  August,  and  closed  before  Christmas.  But  this 
time  must  be  broken  into  by  the  older  boys  and  girls 
when  the  fodder  is  ready  to  strip  and  the  corn  to  pull. 

!" Shaped  notes"  are  written  the  same  as  ordinary  notes,  except 
that  their  shapes  denote  the  syllables  of  the  scale;  thus: 

do ^  re  ^7,  mio,  fa  i^,  sol  o,  la  n,  ti  <? 

Obviously,  the  art  of  note-reading  is  made  easy  by  this  method,  but 
those  who  learn  to  sing  by  shaped  notes,  though  they  see  them  on  the 
staff,  are  usually  helpless  before  ordinary  written  music. 


72  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

This  breaking  of  time  is  disastrous  to  scholarship,  and 
it  must  be  admitted  that  the  commonest  arts  of  read- 
nig  and  writing  are  but  shoddy  accomplishments  with 
all  but  a  favored  few.  Arithmetic,  especially  "head 
figuring/ '  is  more  in  line  with  common  pursuits,  and 
finds  more  than  one  adept  where  he  would  be  least  sus- 
pected. 

As  for  the  teachers,  they  are  a  devoted  but  scarcely 
a  peerless  class.  With  less  than  half  a  year's  term,  and 
that  on  small  pay,  the  teacher  secured  is  seldom  all 
that  could  be  desired.  Of  the  men  teachers,  who  are 
disproportionately  common  in  the  mountains,  prac- 
tically all  depend  upon  farming  or  some  other  support 
for  the  most  of  the  year,  and  have  but  little  chance  to 
improve  then1  talents  by  further  training.  And  as  for 
the  women,  they  follow  the  world-wide  custom  of  teach- 
ing until  they  get  a  good  offer  of  'marriage.  Yet  there 
are  some  who  are  trained  and  Capable  teachers  —  in- 
variably those  who  for  shorter  or  longer  time  have  been 
won  to  the  work  by  love  rather  than  by  money. 

Let  one  of  these,  who,  of  all  the  interpreters  of  the 
mountains,  has  written  the  most  illuminating  and  faith- 
ful account,  paint  for  us  a  closing  picture  of  the  moun- 
tain school: 

"Our  log  church  stands  in  the  forest.  There  is  scarce 
enough  space  cleared  around  it  for  a  playground.  Wood- 
peckers drum  on  its  roof  in  the  daytime,  and  whip- 
poorwills  sing  there  at  night.  Acorns  drop  upon  it  hi 
October,  with  resounding  taps  that  startle  all  the  little 
ones  within.  Its  walls  are  laid  of  heavy  pine  timbers, 
squared  roughly  and  well  matched  together,  the  cracks 
chinked  with  chips  driven  in  slantwise,  and  daubed  with 
native  clay.  There  is  no  belfry.  The  door  is  at  one 
end,  and  the  high  pulpit  at  the  other. 

"At  one  side  is  a  stone  chimney,  massive  as  a  door, 
whose  fireplace  on  cold  days  seems  about  to  swallow 
the  huddled  school.  It  requires  the  strength  of  all  the 
larger  boys  together  to  bring  in  a  backlog.  When  I 


The   Modern   Mountaineer  73 

was  a  child,  I  remember  a  number  of  us,  on  the  heels 
of  some  prank,  once  hid  in  its  sooty  depths  from  the  rod 
of  a  teacher,  much  as  the  Indians  took  shelter  in  Nicko- 
jack  from  the  pursuing  forces  of  Sevier.  How  could 
we  have  kept  school  without  the  aid  of  that  hospitable 
cavern?  We  roasted  nuts  in  it,  and  potatoes,  and  ap- 
ples, and  pigs'  tails  brought  from  home.  We  even  boiled 
eggs  there  in  a  tin  bucket  when  Mis'  Robbins'  old  blue 
hen  obligingly  stole  her  nest  under  the  floor.  We  watched 
the  sparks  fly  up  the  chimney  when  we  should  have  been 
studying.  We  told  fortunes,  making  and  naming  marks 
in  the  ashes.  And  oh,  the  visions  we  saw  in  its  smoke, 
the  futures  we  painted  in  its  ruddy  coals! 

"Still  it  stands,  the  mighty  chimney,  and  now  it 
is  I  who  must  sometimes  chase  the  little  fellows,  laugh- 
ing and  squealing,  into  its  dark  recesses  and  out  again. 
With  so  few  pupils,  little  discipline  is  necessary,  and  we 
often  spend  the  hot  afternoons  of  September  outside 
with  our  books  —  old  McGuffey  readers,  blue-back 
spellers,  Testaments,  or  whatever  comes  to  hand,  scat- 
tered about  on  the  ground.  If  the  young  minds  wander 
afield  with  the  scampering  and  flitting  of  little  brothers 
of  treetop  and  burrow,  what  matter?  Perhaps  they 
learn  at  such  times  something  not  to  be  found  between 
the  covers  of  Webster. 

"As  for  that,  our  study  is  never  confined  to  the 
text-book  long.  The  first  hour  of  our  day  is  devoted  to 
reading  in  four  classes  of  different  grades,  the  second 
to  arithmetic  in  three.  Then  we  spend  about  thirty 
minutes  in  drawing  maps  and  talking  about  the  country 
represented,  a  primitive  method  of  studying  geog- 
raphy, but  the  best  possible  in  default  of  more  expen- 
sive books.  Next  we  write  either  a  spelling  lesson  or 
a  composition  on  some  out-door  subject,  until  it  is  time 
for  the  noon  'ree-cess.'  Dinner,  eaten  in  the  shade 
outside,  is  over  in  a  few  minutes,  and  then  playtime 
scatters  the  little  folks  through  the  woods,  making  play- 
houses and  bending  down  saplings  for  'ridey-hosses,' 


74  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

until  it  is  time  to  recall  them  by  rapping  on  the  door 
with  a  stick,  as  if  the  hollow  house  were  a  giant  drum. 

"The  afternoon  is  very  much  like  the  morning,  ex- 
cept that  there  is  a  class  in  such  grammar  as  we  can 
manage  without  a  text-book.  Last  of  all,  I  give  them 
something  to  take  home  with  them  to  think  over  and 
dream  about  —  an  object-lesson,  a  story,  a  poem,  or  a 
simple  talk  on  some  bit  of  natural  science." 

This  second  class,  who  make  up  the  bulk  of  the  true 
mountain  people  —  distinct  from  the  valley  dwellers  — 
are  among  the  most  valuable  elements  in  America's 
population.  They  best  represent  that  dauntless,  daring 
race,  Saxon  and  Celt,  that  not  only  conquered  the  moun- 
tains, but  that  has  been  foremost  in  the  winning  of  the 
West.  Elsewhere  in  America,  East,  North,  and  West, 
the  blood  of  Britain  has  mingled  with  that  of  the  Teu- 
ton, the  Latin,  and  the  Slav.  Here  alone  dwells  the 
triple-welded  American  —  English,  Irish,  and  Scotch, 
with  an  Elizabethan  language  and  a  Cromwellian  tem- 
per, speaking  his  thoughts  with  an  unconventional 
force,  and  doing  his  deeds  with  a  resolute  directness. 
He  is  not  lawless,  but  he  is  a  lord  of  the  law.  In  an 
abstract  sense  "the  law" — a  phrase  frequently  on  his 
tongue  —  is  the  personification  of  justice,  order,  and 
dignity  of  government,  to  which  he  is  ardently  attached. 
But  concretely,  his  intimate  contact  with  the  state's 
statutes  has  taught  him  that  "the  law"  is  a  great  game 
in  which  he  whose  wits  are  sharpest  and  whose  pocket- 
book  is  longest,  may  win.  Sometimes,  therefore,  his 
reason  tells  him,  it  is  more  to  his  advantage  and  satis- 
faction to  settle  his  troubles  by  more  primitive  law. 
There  are  very  few  grown  men  in  the  mountains  who 
have  not  had  some  contact  with  "the  law,"  either  as 
principal  or  accessory  or  witness.  Court  day  finds  the 
county-seat  crowded;  and  trials  and  decisions  hold  at 
least  equal  value  as  mental  food  with  sermons  and  re- 
vivals. 

B.  Miles,  The  Spirit  of  the  Mountains,  pp.  3-6. 


The   Modern   Mountaineer  75 

^  There  is  a  third  class,  consisting  of  the  poorest  men 
of  the  mountains,  those  living  in  the  distant  gorges 
or  " coves,"  on  the  mountain  sides  or  mountain  tops, 
and  in  the  rough  hill  land.  They  are  also  to  be  found 
scattered  all  through  the  other  communities,  infre- 
quently landowners,  more  often  renters,  sometimes  little 
more  than  paupers.  They  are  usually  housed  in  a 
ragged  relative  of  the  log  cabin,  though  sometimes  more 
forlornly  in  a  slatternly  plank  hut.  In  such  a  house  the 
chimney  has  degenerated  into  a  cobblestone-and-mud 
daub,  or  even  perhaps,  into  a  stick  chimney,  sometimes 
carried  little  above  the  height  of  the  fireplace,  so  that 
"you  can  sit  in  the  chimblyand  spit  outdoors/'  Cracks 
in  the  walls,  in  the  floors,  and  often  between  the  curled 
"boards"  of  the  roof,  invite  the  weather,  and  the  "sage 
broom" — a  bundle  of  broom-sedge  or  "sage  grass" — 
restricts  its  sphere  of  usefulness  to  the  uneven,  rock 
hearth.  A  patch  of  corn  and  beans,  a  hog  or  two,  make 
most  of  their  worldly  wealth.  Down  in  the  "settlemints" 
the  men  will  work,  perhaps,  when  occasion  and  neces- 
sity agree,  at  odd  jobs  of  crop-tending  or  wood- 
chopping  or  road-mending,  which  will  yield  them 
seventy-five  cents  or  a  dollar.  In  sections  where  no 
such  opportunities  are  found,  the  abundant  leisure  time 
is  spent  hunting  or  sunning  or  "jest  waitin'." 

It  is  really  unfair  to  the  best  of  this  class  to  count 
them  under  the  same  head  as  the  worst,  and  it  is  only 
their  economic  condition  that  invites  it.  For  while  some, 
from  mere  lack  of  opportunity,  or  perhaps  of  worldly- 
wiseness,  are  wofully  poor  in  material  things,  they  are 
possessed  of  much  moral  and  no  little  mental  power, 
and  are  capable,  if  given  instruction  and  opportunity, 
of  rising  into  the  second  class.  On  the  other  hand, 
some  of  them  are  degenerates  and  the  sons  of  degenerates 
—  a  class  that  is  by  no  means  confined  to  the  moun- 
tains. They  can  be  known  and  classified  only  by  a  per- 
sonal and  individual  acquaintance.  But  a  natural  dis- 
tinction will  at  first  sight  be  made  between  those  who 


76  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

are  poor  because  they  live  in  the  most  inaccessible  and 
isolated  regions  and  those  who  remain  poor  though  in 
the  midst  of  more  prosperous  communities. 

It  is  chiefly  from  this  third  class,  though  partly  also 
from  the  second,  that  the  popular  conception  of  the  moun- 
taineer is  gained.  He  makes  the  most  picturesque 
character  in  fiction;  and  fiction  is  the  road  by  which  the 
average  American  travels  outside  his  own  narrow  neigh- 
borhood bounds.  The  ideas  of  the  mountaineer  which 
he  thus  gains  are  about  as  correct  as  the  ideas  of  the  life 
of  Indian,  cowboy,  soldier,  and  jolly  tar,  gained  by  the 
boy  who  reads  the  Henty  and  Alger  type  of  book. 

While,  because  of  his  long  isolation,  the  backward 
type  of  mountaineer  may  have  peculiarities  of  speech 
habit,  and  idea,  he  will,  upon  thorough  acquaintance, 
be  found  as  human  and  as  natural  as  any  other  neighbor, 
with  the  same  faults  of  temper,  prejudice,  and  self- 
interest,  and  the  same  virtues  —  a  little  emphasized 
—  of  curiosity,  hospitality,  and  brotherly  kindness,  to 
which  all  the  world  is  heir. 

There  are  besides,  within  the  mountain  country, 
some  sectional  differences  of  character,  according  with 
the  same  general  laws  of  isolation  or  accessibility. 
Roughly  speaking,  the  mountain  regions  of  Virginia, 
North  Carolina,  and  Georgia  are  more  accessible  than 
those  of  Kentucky,  Tennessee,  and  Alabama.  Partly 
in  consequence  of  this,  it  is  in  Kentucky  that  the  blood 
feuds  occur  which  have  unjustly  branded  the  whole 
mountain  people  in  the  popular  mind;  and  it  is  on  the 
broad  Cumberland  plateau  of  the  more  southern  States, 
alongside  the  prosperous  Tennessee  Valley,  that  the 
densest  ignorance  and  most  hopeless  economic  condi- 
tions exist.  "  There  are  places  on  S —  Mountain," 
is  a  phrase  with  which  other  mountaineers  are  wont  to 
begin  stories  of  conditions  below  their  own.  The  other 
States  have  these  conditions,  or  conditions  approach- 
ing these,  in  plenty,  but  they  are  not  so  typical  of  large 
sections,  for  the  simple  reason  that  the  eastern  moun- 


The   Modern   Mountaineer  77 

tains  are  penetrated  more  fully  by  means  of  communi- 
cation with  the  outside  world.  These  facts  make  each 
State  and  each  community  in  each  State  a  separate 
problem  by  itself,  corresponding  only  in  general  features 
to  the  great  whole,  and  requiring  study  and  peculiar 
treatment  each  for  itself. 

Beyond  the  mountains,  in  the  piedmont,  or  foothill 
sections,  there  is  a  people  kin  somewhat  to  the  moun- 
taineer, and  having  the  same  needs.  Indeed,  through- 
out the  rural  South  the  state  of  society  is  practically 
that  of  the  mountains,  with  the  addition,  however, 
of  the  upper  crust  of  the  aristocracy  and  the  bottom 
crust  —  now  more  or  less  upheaved  —  of  the  negro. 
It  was  under  slavery  that  the  poorer  or  less  successful 
white  man  was  forced  away  from  the  richest  lands  of 
the  South  and  up  into  the  foothills.  He  lacked,  and 
lacks  today,  the  same  advantages  that  the  mountaineer 
lacks,  without  all  the  compensating  advantages  of  the 
mountaineer,  hi  the  inspiring  life  of  the  great  heights, 
the  far  views,  and  the  healthfulness  of  his  elevated 
region.  Some  writers  declare,  also,  that  a  greater  pro- 
portion of  outlaws  and  degenerates  mingled  with  the 
inhabitants  of  the  foothills  than  with  those  of  the  moun- 
tains. However  that  may  be,  the  esteem  of  the  wealthy 
lowlander  was  given  more  to  the  mountaineer  than 
to  the  foothiller,  his  contempt  for  the  latter  being  pre- 
served today  hi  the  various  opprobrious  terms  used  for 
the  hillsmen,  from  Carolina  around  through  Georgia 
and  Alabama  to  Tennessee,  such  as,  "  redneck,"  "sand- 
hiller,"  "corn  cracker,"  "mudsill,"  and  "hill  billie." 

Nevertheless,  that  the  foothiller  packed  opportunity 
more  than  ability  has  been  proved  since  the  upheaval 
of  the  Civil  War,  by  his  increasing  activity  hi  the  public 
life  of  the  South.  For  two  generations  he  has  been  com- 
ing more  and  more  to  the  front  hi  politics  and  educa- 
tion; and  many  of  the  leaders  in  public  life  in  the  South 
are  from  this  class.  The  mountaineer  and  the  foothiller 
together  may  boast  that  slavery  gave  them  only  a  tern- 


78  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

porary  eclipse;  for  in  the  early  days  of  the  nation  they 
were  the  producers  of  such  national  figures  as  Jackson 
and  Clay;  even  hi  the  death  throes  of  slavery  they  brought 
forth  such  men  as  Lincoln;  and  today  the  voices  of  then* 
sons  are  heard  in  State  and  national  councils  more  fully 
than  is  generally  realized.  Dry  soil  of  wonderful  promise, 
they  await  only  the  living  streams  of  education  and 
social  and  economic  opportunity  to  bear  the  fruits  of 
civilization  and  culture.  And  out  of  their  ranks,  deeply 
spiritual  as  they  are  by  nature  and  training,  may  the 
church  gain  for  itself,  for  the  world,  and  for  God,  heroes 
of  faith  and  action  to  stand  in  the  ranks  of  the  last 
great  battle  for  truth. 


VI 
THE  HEART  OF  APPALACHIA 

THE  Potomac  marks  the  northern  boundary  of  Ap- 
palachia.  This  is  the  ancient  application  of  the 
term.  To  the  earliest  settlers  the  Indians  to  the  south- 
west were  known  as  the  Appalachians,  and  from  them 
the  mountains  gained  their  name.  While  today  the 
term  is  made  to  cover  the  whole  system  of  the  eastern 
highlands,  in  a  distinctive  sense  it  applies  only  to  the 
Southern  mountains.  Appalachia  is  set  off  by  its  heights, 
its  climate,  its  products,  and  its  people,  from  the  lands 
surrounding  it.  It  may  perhaps  be  allowed  to  extend 
as  far  as  the  Alleghanies  take  it  into  Pennsylvania, 
but  it  has  no  kinship  with  the  Catskills,  the  Adiron- 
dacks,  the  Green  or  the  White  Mountains,  much  less 
with  the  plains.  They  belong  to  another  world. 

The  mountains  of  Appalachia  run  in  two  great 
parallel  ranges,  beginning  in  Pennsylvania  and  trend- 
ing southwest.  The  one  is  the  Blue  Ridge,  the  other  is 
the  Allegheny  and  Cumberland  system.  Between  these 
two  ranges  lies  a  great  trough-like  valley,  cut  into  three 
parts.  The  northernmost  is  in  Pennsylvania  and  Mary- 
land, where  it  is  known  as  the  Cumberland  Valley. 
With  this,  hi  our  study  of  the  Southern  mountaineers, 
we  will  not  deal.  There  remain,  then,  two  great  divi- 
sions of  the  valley  south  of  the  Potomac.  The  first  is 
the  Shenandoah,  or  more  broadly,  the  valley  of  Virginia, 

(79) 


8o  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

under  which  name  it  continues  to  near  the  southwest- 
ern corner  of  the  State.  Here  the  valley  is  broken  by 
cross  ridges,  in  the  midst  of  which  the  New  River  flows 
from  the  highlands  of  North  Carolina  across  the  Great 
Valley  and  northward  through  the  Alleghanies.  But  con- 
tinuing southwestwardly,  the  Great  Valley  quickly  slides 
down  into  the  valley  of  the  Tennessee,  the  upper  part 
of  which  is  divided,  according  to  its  several  head-streams 
which  flow  therein,  into  the  Holston,  the  Clinch,  and  the 
Powell  valleys. 

This  great  Appalachian  Valley  divides  the  mountains 
into  two  grand  divisions,  which,  by  the  transverse  ridges 
in  lower  Virginia  and  between  Tennessee  and  Kentucky, 
are  made  into  four.  In  the  northern  section,  the  valley 
of  Virginia  lies  in  the  eastern  part  of  the  mountain  mass, 
there  being  only  the  Blue  Ridge  between  it  and  the  low- 
lands, while  the  great  body  of  the  mountains  is  to  the 
west,  in  Kentucky  and  West  Virginia.  In  the  southern 
division,  on  the  contrary,  the  Tennessee  Valley  leaves 
to  the  east  the  wider  stretch  of  mountain  country, 
where  the  Blue  Ridge  broadens  out,  making  an  elevated 
plateau  hi  western  North  Carolina,  between  the  Blue 
Ridge  proper  and  the  Great  Smoky  Mountains.  To  the 
west  of  the  Tennessee  Valley  lie  the  somewhat  narrower 
Cumberland  Mountains  or  Plateau.  The  general  char- 
acter of  the  ranges  to  the  east  is  that  of  true  mountains, 
with  rounded  peaks  that  mark  then1  individuality  by 
rising  above  their  connecting  ridges;  while  those  to  the 
west,  in  Kentucky  and  Tennessee,  are  in  the  nature  of 
elevated  plateaus,  their  faces  making  abrupt  cliffs  and 
their  tops  broad,  rolling  country. 

Below  this  mountain  system,  especially  on  the  east 
and  the  south,  which  look  toward  the  sea,  is  the  gradual 
descent  known  as  the  piedmont  or  foothills.  Next  to  the 
mountains  the  piedmont  is  rough  and  heaped  with  high 
hills,  and  the  population  is  practically  the  same  as  that 
of  the  mountains.  Farther  toward  the  coastal  plain 
the  piedmont  settles  down  into  rolling  or  almost  level 


The  Heart   of  Appalachia  81 

country;  and  in  this  section,  generally  speaking,  is  found 
the  highest  development  of  agriculture  and  of  manu- 
factures. 

To  the  west  of  the  mountains  the  character  of  the 
country  is  slightly  different.  In  Tennessee  the  Cumber- 
land Plateau  gradually  descends  toward  the  west  and, 
except  where  the  great  river  basins  cut  it  deeply,  glides 
almost  imperceptibly  into  the  lowlands.  In  Kentucky 
and  West  Virginia,  the  rough,  hilly,  mountainous  land 
west  of  the  main  ranges  is  of  a  character  to  make  it 
popularly  included  among  the  mountains.  The  Blue- 
grass  country,  which  lies  just  outside  the  westernmost 
of  the  Kentucky  hills  or  mountains,  is  an  undulating 
plain  stretching  away  toward  the  Mississippi. 

If,  now,  we  would  see  more  particularly  the  domain 
of  the  American  highlanders,  let  us  follow  the  trail  of 
their  fathers,  that  long  trail  that  leads  from  the  gorge 
of  the  Potomac  at  Harper's  Ferry  up  to  the  backwater 
districts,  and  there  divides,  running  one  way  into  the 
mountains  of  West  Virginia,  another  into  the  table- 
lands of  Carolina,  and  yet  another  —  the  chief est  trail 
— down  into  the  valley  of  the  Tennessee  and  through 
Cumberland  Gap  into  Kentucky. 

Upon  our  left,  as  we  go  up  the  beautiful  valley  of 
the  Shenandoah,  lie  the  walls  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  whose 
forbidding  heights  daunted  so  many  generations  of  our 
English  forebears.  Yet  the  Blue  Ridge,  for  all  its  half 
a  dozen  parallel  ridges  within  its  sixteen  miles'  breadth, 
is  not  impassable,  and  through  its  water-gaps  and  passes 
the  English  did  finally  sweep  hi  to  join  the  steady  cur- 
rent of  Scotch-Irish  that  soon  began  to  settle  the  valley. 

But  across  the  valley  to  the  west  rise  abruptly  the 
limestone  cliffs  of  the  Alleghanies.  Small  wonder  that 
the  pioneers  grew  discouraged  before  these  forbidding 
ramparts;  for  the  Alleghanies  oppose  to  western  prog- 
ress not  one  height  only,  but  ridge  after  ridge  of  per- 
pendicular walls  carved  out  of  its  limestone  bed. 
If,  as  the  settlers  entered  the  Great  Valley  at  its  lowest 
6 


$2  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

point,  by  the  Potomac,  they  turned  their  eyes  to  the 
westward,  they  saw  their  way  barred  by  that  first  out- 
post of  the  Alleghanies,  the  great  North  Mountain, 
whose  lines  faded  out  to  the  southward  only  to  reveal 
the  Shenandoah  Mountains  behind.  And  if  through 
such  a  water-gap  as  that  of  the  James  at  Clifton  Forge, 
two  hundred  miles  and  better  up  the  valley,  they  should 
win  their  way  through  the  Shenandoahs  to  the  valley 
of  the  mineral  springs,  it  was  but  to  be  faced  at  last 
by  the  still  unbroken  battle-line  of  the  main  Allegha- 
nies, with  a  hundred  miles  of  like  country  behind  it. 

So  the  pioneer,  who  had  no  need  to  seek  the  hard- 
ship and  danger  which  were  always  seeking  him,  kept 
his  face  still  turned  up  the  easier  way  of  the  valley, 
finding  his  home  therein  whenever  he  could,  or  pressing 
on  to  the  fair  lands  of  Tennessee  and  the  Kentucky 
Blue-grass. 

Well  might  the  homeseeker  choose  his  home  in  the 
valley  of  Virginia  while  there  remained  homes  to  be  pre- 
empted; for  that  lap  of  the  mountains  was  the  fairest 
land  in  all  Virginia;  and  till  today  it  keeps  its  boast. 
Twenty  miles  apart,  the  Blue  Ridge  and  the  Allegha- 
nies stand  to  guard  it  with  their  heights;  and  in  the 
midst,  running  hi  the  long  hollows  of  the  hills,  flow  the 
streams  of  the  Shenandoah.  The  soils  of  this  valley, 
formed  from  decaying  limestone,  are  the  richest  in  the 
State.  At  an  average  altitude  of  1,200  feet,  its  climate 
misses  the  heat  of  the  lowlands,  and  its  products  are 
those  of  the  northern  temperate  section.  With  its  wheat 
and  other  small  grains,  as  well  as  corn,  the  valley  has 
ever  been  the  granary  of  the  State,  and  it  is  no  less  fa- 
mous for  its  production  of  fruits,  especially  of  apples. 

Strictly  speaking,  the  valley  can  be  called  the  Shen- 
andoah no  more  than  two  hundred  miles  from  the 
Potomac,  for  there  the  headwaters  of  the  northward  flow- 
ing Shenandoah  begin.  Within  these  bounds,  the  three 
chief  cities  are  Winchester  at  the  lower  end,  the 
first  town  of  the  valley;  Lexington,  the  seat  of  Washing- 


The   Heart   of  Appalachia  83 

ton  and  Lee  University;  and  Staunton,  at  the  upper 
end,  a  city  of  some  fifteen  thousand  inhabitants,  the 
center  and  shipping-point  of  a  wide  agricultural  dis- 
trict, and  the  seat  of  growing  manufactures. 

Above  Staunton  the  Great  Valley,  while  keeping 
still  its  trough-like  character  between  the  chief  ranges, 
becomes  for  another  two  hundred  miles  the  debatable 
land  of  the  great  water  systems.  As  the  fingers  of  the 
Shenandoah  leave  off  clutching  at  the  hills,  the  James 
River,  through  its  many  wide-spreading  tributaries, 
takes  possession,  and  gathering  the  waters  of  the  moun- 
tains, rushes  them  through  the  Blue  Ridge  eastward 
to  the  lower  end  of  the  Chesapeake.  Then,  as  we  pass 
Roanoke,  the  metropolis  of  the  valley  of  Virginia,  with 
its  30,000  inhabitants,  its  railroad  shops,  and  its  manu- 
factures, we  come  to  the  height  of  land  that  marks  off 
the  domain  of  the  New  River,  whose  course  Batts  fol- 
lowed in  his  efforts  to  reach  the  limits  of  the  mountains. 
The  New  River  turns  its  back  upon  the  East,  and, 
cleaving  a  way  through  the  Alleghanies,  rushes  down 
through  West  Virginia,  under  the  name  of  Kanawha, 
to  join  the  Ohio. 

Here,  on  the  heights  overlooking  the  narrow  valley 
of  the  New,  let  us  pause  to  take  a  survey;  for  now  we 
have  reached  the  divide,  the  "Backwater  Settlements" 
whence  went  the  Campbells  and  then*  followers,  in  the 
days  of  the  Revolution,  to  join  the  Tennessee  men  for 
the  great  stroke  at  King's  Mountain. 

Here  the  Great  Trail  divided.  While  the  chief  divi- 
sion kept  on  its  course  to  the  southwest,  into  the  valley  of 
the  Holston  and  the  Tennessee,  two  ways  branched  off, 
one  up,  the  other  down,  the  waters  of  the  New.  To 
the  right  lay  the  northwest  trail  into  western  Virginia, 
the  nearest  way  to  the  Ohio;  and  by  this  way  went  many 
emigrants  to  fill  the  limestone  valleys  between  the  Alle- 
ghany  ridges,  and  later  the  thin-soiled,  flat  tops  of  those 
same  ridges,  while  others  continued  down  to  the  richer 
bottoms  and  the  hills  below. 


84  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

On  the  other  hand,  to  the  south  ran  the  trail  up  to 
the  sources  of  the  New  River,  in  what  is  now  the  north- 
western corner  of  North  Carolina.  From  there  lay  the 
way  south  among  the  mountains,  or  east  into  the  pied- 
mont along  the  Yadkin  and  the  Catawba.  This  was 
one  of  the  main  routes  for  the  settlers  of  Carolina's 
hinterland,  though  another  and  perhaps  a  greater  stream 
of  immigrants  flowed  east  of  the  Blue  Ridge. 

The  New  River  occupies  no  unimportant  place  in 
the  geography  of  the  mountains.  It  marks  the  height 
of  land  that  divides  the  Great  Valley  into  its  northern 
and  its  southern  parts.  And,  more  than  this,  it  does 
its  will  with  the  mountains.  The  place  where  it  cuts 
through  the  western  ranges  marks  the  point  where  the 
Alleghanies  stop  on  the  north  and  the  Cumberlands 
begin  on  the  south.  Higher  up  its  course,  it  plays 
with  the  eastern  mountainsv  To  the  north  of  the  New's 
course,  the  Blue  Ridge  is  a  single  chain,  with  several 
parallel  ridges,  but  compact.  But  when  it  comes  to  the 
New  River,  it  straddles  that  stream,  and  running  south, 
spreads  out  into  the  Carolina  Plateau,  with  the  Blue 
Ridge  proper  on  the  east,  and  the  Unakas  (the  Iron 
and  Smoky  Mountains)  on  the  west. 

Thus,  where  the  New  River  crosses  the  Great  Val- 
ley, we  stand,  physically  speaking,  in  the  heart  of  Ap- 
palachia.  It  is  near  the  geographical  center  —  a  little 
high  up  and  a  little  to  the  left,  as  the  heart  should  be. 
It  marks  approximately  the  meeting  place  of  the  four 
great  divisions  of  the  Appalachians.  The  fertile  valley 
of  Virginia,  with  its  mountains,  is  to  the  northeast. 
To  the  south  is  the  beautiful  Carolina  Plateau,  "the 
Land  of  the  Sky,"  with  itis  charming  valleys  and  hills 
and  its  hundred  towering  peaks,  highest  of  all  the  east- 
ern mountains.  To  the  northwest  are  the  Alleghanies 
and  the  rough  lands  of  West  Virginia  and  Kentucky, 
isolated  and  long  forgotten.  Separated  from  them  by 
cross-ridges  —  a  little  farther  to  the  south,  along  the 
State  line  —  is  the  southwestern  country  of  the  Ten- 


The   Heart  of  Appalachia  85 

nessee  Valley  and  the  Cumberland  Plateau.  Far  to 
the  south,  with  their  two  feet  on  the  sandy  piedmont 
of  Georgia  and  Alabama,  end  the  Blue  Ridge  and  the 
Cumberlands. 

From  our  height  of  land  whence  we  have  taken  this 
rapid  glance,  let  us  turn  first  toward  the  west  and  north. 
Here  lie  the  mountain  lands  of  Kentucky  and  West 
Virginia.  The  real  mountain  country  consists  of  the 
Alleghany  and  the  Cumberland  ranges.  These  ranges 
consist  of  a  plateau  of  limestone  and  sandstone  foun- 
dation which  has  been  cut  by  the  forces  of  nature  into 
long,  narrow  table-lands  with  almost  unscalable  sides. 
The  narrow  valleys  between  these  ridges,  which  hold 
the  greater  part  of  the  population,  have  little  commu- 
nication with  one  another.  It  not  infrequently  happens 
that  the  inhabitants  of  one  valley  know  less  of  those 
in  the  valley  but  a  few  miles  across  the  mountain  than 
they  know  of  those  scores  of  miles  away  down  the  more 
level  path  of  their  streams.  The  valleys  contain  the 
best  land,  some  of  it  —  above  limestone  formation  — 
of  excellent  quality.  The  table-lands  have  generally 
thin,  sandy  soils. 

After  the  Alleghany  ridges  have  been  passed,  there 
comes  a  wide  extent  of  broken,  hilly,  or  even  mountain- 
ous land,  almost  all  of  it,  however,  being  of  much  lower 
altitude.  This  covers  the  greater  extent  of  the  mountain 
country  of  Kentucky,  and  at  least  half  that  of  West 
Virginia.  Heading  usually  in  the  Alleghanies,  and  run- 
ning through  the  lower  mountains  and  foothills,  are  a 
number  of  important  streams  like  the  Monongahela, 
the  Kanawha,  the  Big  Sandy,  the  Kentucky,  and  the 
Cumberland.  Rapids  and  falls  hinder  their  navigation 
very  far  up  into  the  mountains,  and  while  some  im- 
provements have  been  made  upon  some  of  them,  the 
value  of  their  commerce  has  not  warranted  great  ex- 
penditures. The  most  of  their  navigation  within  the 
mountains  consists  of  the  rafting  of  logs  by  the  moun- 
taineers in  the  tune  of  the  spring  floods. 


86  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

These  mountains,  lying  between  the  great  arteries 
of  travel  on  east  and  west,  have  had  at  least  an  equal 
share  of  isolation  with  the  Cumberlands  of  Tennessee. 
The  measure  of  the  world's  life  that  has  been  brought 
in  to  them  has  come  almost  wholly  through  the  develop- 
ment of  their  mineral  and  forest  resources,  and  in  this 
matter  to  the  present  time  West  Virginia  has  shared 
much  more  fully  than  Kentucky.  In  consequence, 
this  broad  expanse  of  mountain  country,  containing  more 
than  a  quarter  of  the  mountain  population,  has  furnished 
the  world  its  chief  examples  of  a  stagnant  civilization, 
with  all  its  spectacular  features  of  blood  feuds,  moon- 
shining,  and  ignorance,  along  with  the  pleasanter  quali- 
ties of  loyalty  and  free-handed  hospitality. 

Retracing  our  steps  to  the  Virginian  valley,  we  now 
turn  southward  into  the  region  of  the  great  mountains. 
In  the  north  there  are  but  few  high  mountains,  but 
as  we  enter  at  its  acute  apex  the  long  triangle  of  the 
Carolina  Plateau,  we  find  the  mountains  piling  up  in 
great  masses.  It  is  along  the  inner  chain,  the  Iron  and 
Smoky  Mountains,  or  in  the  transverse  ranges  that 
connect  it  with  the  eastern  Blue  Ridge,  that  we  find 
the  greatest  heights.  From  the  piedmont  of  North 
Carolina  the  Blue  Ridge  rises  abruptly,  yet  seldom 
above  three  thousand  feet,  and  on  its  western  side  its 
top  in  some  places  is  scarcely  above  the  level  of  the 
plateau.  But  in  the  ridges  that  cross  and  cut  this  pla- 
teau are  found  more  than  eighty  mountains  which  can 
claim  between  five  and  six  thousand  feet  altitude,  be- 
sides thirty-two  that  rise  above  the  six-thousand-foot 
mark.  Among  these  is  Mount  Mitchell,  in  the  Black 
Mountains,  a  little  west  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  which,  with 
its  6,711  feet  above  sea  level,  overtops  every  other 
mountain  east  of  the  Rockies.  It  is  closely  followed, 
however,  by  many  peaks  in  the  Black  and  the  Smoky 
Mountains,  one  of  which,  Clingman's  Dome,  still  dis- 
putes honors  in  the  opinions  of  some  authorities,  with 
Mitchell. 


The   Heart   of   Appalachia  87 

These  mountains,  like  all  the  eastern  Appalachians, 
have  few  cliffs  or  rocky  peaks.  Their  full,  rounded 
outlines  swell  up  from  their  surrounding  valleys  like  the 
ancient  mountains  of  Eden.  And  indeed,  the  eyes  of 
Adam  may  have  rested  upon  these  mountains  some- 
what in  their  present  form;  for  we  know  from  the  story 
of  their  granite  framework  that  they  are  among  the 
most  ancient  of  earth's  hills.  As  you  gaze  from  some 
height  out  upon  the  billowy  ranges,  clothed  to  the  top 
with  forest  and  grasses,  or  as  you  wander  along  its  trails 
and  streams  among  the  azaleas  and  the  rhododendrons 
in  spring  and  early  summer,  it  is  not  difficult  to  believe 
that  you  stand  in  a  part  of  earth's  prime  domain,  as  un- 
spoiled as  may  be  by  the  ravages  of  the  Deluge.  "The 
Land  of  the  Sky"  it  was  named  long  ago  by  one  of  its 
admirers,  and  in  loveliness  of  scenery  and  climate  it 
deserves  the  name. 

The  climate  of  this  "Land  of  the  Sky"  may  with 
slight  variations  fairly  represent  that  of  the  whole 
Blue  Ridge  country,  and,  with  somewhat  greater  modi- 
fications, that  of  the  whole  mountain  land.  The  sum- 
mers are  cool,  and  the  winters  but  slightly  more  severe 
than  those  of  the  lowlands  hi  the  same  latitude.  For 
comparison  three  cities  may  be  taken:  Asheville,  North 
Carolina,  in  the  mountains,  at  an  altitude  of  2,250  feet; 
Lynchburg,  Virginia,  in  the  piedmont,  at  an  altitude 
of  685  feet;  and  Nashville,  Tennessee,  at  an  altitude 
of  405  feet.  The  average  mean  temperature  for  summer 
is,  in  Asheville  70.9°,  hi  Lynchburg  77°,  in  Nashville 
80.4°.  In  winter  Asheville  stands  at  35°,  Lynchburg 
at  36°,  and  Nashville  at  39.2°.  The  highest  tempera- 
ture ever  recorded  at  Asheville  was  92°. 

From  Asheville  we  turn  down  the  gorge  of  the  French 
Broad  River  into  the  valley  of  the  Tennessee.  From 
the  altitude  of  the  plateau,  2,200  feet,  we  drop  rapidly 
into  the  plain,  the  lowest  part  of  the  Appalachian  coun- 
try. At  Knoxville  we  are  scarcely  a  thousand  feet 
above  the  sea;  at  Chattanooga,  but  668.  The  fertile 


88  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

soil  of  this  valley  rivals  that  of  its  northern  sister,  the 
Shenandoah.  Besides  the  value  of  its  agriculture,  the 
valley  has  within  its  hills  and  mountainsides  incalcu- 
lable wealth  in  coal  and  iron  deposits,  as  well  as  other 
metals  in  scantier  proportions,  all  of  which  are  rapidly 
being  more  and  more  fully  exploited.  Its  chief  cities 
are  Bristol,  Morristown,  Knoxville,  Cleveland,  and 
Chattanooga. 

Below  Chattanooga,  at  the  southern  border  of  the 
State,  the  Tennessee  River  begins  its  long,  sweeping 
curve  through  northern  Alabama,  to  turn  northward 
into  the  Ohio.  In  this  course  it  cuts  a  sharp  gorge  through 
the  Cumberland  Plateau,  the  gorge  which  in  Sevier's 
time  became  the  haunts  of  the  Chickamaugas. 

Southeast  of  Chattanooga,  the  Georgia  highlands 
rise  gradually,  the  Blue  Ridge  system  extending  into 
that  State  in  the  last  of  its  southwestern  trend.  The 
general  depression  of  the  Great  Valley  continues,  how- 
ever, between  the  Cumberland  systems,  through  the 
northwestern  corner  of  Georgia,  until  it  ends  in  the 
lowlands  of  Alabama.  That  part  of  the  Cumberlands 
cut  off  to  the  south  by  the  Tennessee  River  forms  the 
two  well-known  narrow  table-lands  of  Lookout  Moun- 
tain and  Sand  Mountain,  the  former  running  but  eighty 
miles  to  an  abrupt  end  in  northeastern  Alabama,  the 
latter  continuing  farther  and  gradually  shelving  down 
into  the  piedmont  in  the  region  of  Birmingham.  The 
same  name  in  the  plural,  Sand  Mountains,  is  generally 
used  also  to  cover  the  irregular  lower  highlands  that 
stretch  westward  nearly  across  the  State,  below  the  Ten- 
nessee. 

Now,  facing  northward  and  crossing  the  Tennessee, 
we  come  into  the  chief  portion  of  the  Cumberlands, 
the  wide  table-land  that  stretches  from  the  eastern 
valley  across  to  the  Tennessee  in  the  west.  Abrupt  and 
high  it  is  on  its  eastern  face,  rising  to  an  average  alti- 
tude of  2,200  feet,  but  gradually  it  shelves  off  to  the 
westward,  until  its  Highland  Rim,  in  the  middle  part  of 


The   Heart   of  Appalachia  89 

the  State,  is  but  a  thousand  feet  or  less  above  the  sea 
level,  and  still  lower  when  it  reaches  the  Tennessee. 

The  plateau  is  cut  and  gullied  by  many  streams 
into  valleys  and  gorges,  and  the  Cumberland  River, 
sweeping  down  from  Kentucky  in  the  north,  narrows 
its  western  part  into  a  long  tongue  that  passes  south 
of  Nashville  westward  to  the  Tennessee.  These  western 
highlands,  however,  with  their  gradually  lessening 
altitude,  are  not  generally  regarded  as  a  part  of  the  moun- 
tain system,  the  technical  western  edge  of  the  Cumber- 
land Plateau  running  some  sixty  miles  east  of  Nashville. 

The  Cumberland  Plateau,  built  up  largely  of  sand- 
stone, though  in  places  with  limestone  formation,  is, 
generally  speaking,  of  far  less  value  agriculturally  than 
the  lands  farther  east.  This  fact,  more  than  its  topog- 
raphy, has  made  it  less  open  to  communication  with 
the  outside  world.  While  two  or  three  railroads  run 
up  its  narrow  valleys  from  the  south,  and  one  crosses 
it  from  east  to  west,  it  is,  on  the  whole,  far  from  posses- 
sing good  facilities  for  transportation.  A  few  flourish- 
ing towns  there  are  within  its  bounds,  but  its  greater 
part  is  almost  as  undeveloped  as  when  the  "Long  Hunt- 
ers" crossed  its  wilderness,  more  than  a  century  ago. 

Still  northward  bound,  we  are  now  to  come  to  one 
of  the  most  interesting  places  in  the  mountain  country. 
Just  at  the  meeting  point  of  the  three  States,  Tennessee, 
Virginia,  and  Kentucky,  is  the  famous  Cumberland 
Gap.  From  the  Tennessee  Valley  we  make  our  way 
toward  it  through  the  valleys  of  the  Clinch  and  Powell 
rivers,  the  ancient  path  of  the  Indian,  the  pioneer,  and 
the  soldier.  For  Cumberland  Gap  has  gathered  within 
its  constricting  embrace  much  of  the  history  of  two 
races  and  untold  generations.  Its  narrow  pass,  cut 
through  the  cliffs  that  tower  up  on  either  side  a  thou- 
sand feet,  afforded  the  most  direct  and  the  easiest  way 
out  of  the  mountain  country  into  the  plains.  And  this 
way  the  forces  of  war,  of  adventure,  and  of  civilization 
turned. 


$o  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

The  Cumberland  Ridge  at  this  point  is  2,500  feet 
high,  and  1,200  to  1,500  feet  above  the  land  about  it. 
The  Gap  cuts  this  altitude  down  to  1,675  feet,  but  still 
there  is  a  climb  of  some  hundreds  of  feet  from  the  east- 
ern side  and  more  of  a  descent  upon  the  western.  The 
old  road  that  led  over  and  through  the  Gap  was  the  de- 
spair and  the  curse  of  the  adventurers  who  dared  it  in 
their  quest  for  the  land  of  promise  beyond.  Rocky, 
miry,  narrow,  and  gullied,  whether  it  led  in  or  out  of 
the  mountains,  it  typified  the  barriers  of  the  mountain- 
eer's best  alliance  with  the  world.  When  over  such 
roads  must  come  the  products  of  an  outside  civilization, 
the  mountaineer  would  perforce  be  content  with  his  own 
products  and  his  own  civilization.  He  hewed  him  out  his 
home  from  the  forest;  he  raised  the  corn  and  the  meat 
that  supplied  his  board;  he  grew  the  wool  and  flax  that 
his  own  spinning-wheel  and  loom  made  into  the  home- 
spun that  covered  his  meager  form.  He  remembered  or 
he  forgot  what  religion  and  culture  his  fathers  had  brought 
in,  and  where  the  teacher  and  the  circuit-rider  failed 
him,  the  Scripture,  the  story,  and  the  ballad  of  his 
traditions  made  spice  for  the  mental  food  that  lay  about 
him  in  field  and  forest  and  hill.  Shut  in  by  the  moun- 
tains, he  kept  the  legacy  of  his  fathers  in  speech  and 
thought  and  habit;  and  as  the  great  world  outside  made 
to  itself  wealth  of  mind  and  matter,  he  was  left  upon 
his  heights  the  living  monument  of  a  by-gone  age.  Only 
where,  as  in  the  great  valleys,  the  lines  of  communica- 
tion were  open  and  wide,  there  the  pulse-beat  of  the  na- 
tion and  the  larger  world  struck  rhythmically  and  full. 
But  up  on  the  mountains,  beyond  the  cliffs  of  the  table- 
land, behind  the  rampart  of  the  forbidding  hills,  there 
the  mountaineer  remained  "our  contemporary  ances- 
tor." 

But  today  the  scene  is  changing.  Cumberland  Gap 
is  no  longer  a  solitary  wilderness  paoS.  The  railroad 
pierces  it,  cities  lie  on  either  side  of  it,  the  hum  and  roar 
and  movement  of  busy  industry  strike  its  gray  old 


The   Heart  of  Appalachia  91 

walls.  The  stores  of  wealth  the  hills  contain  have  called 
out  the  forces  of  industrialism  to  subdue  it.  Shafts 
and  tunnels,  furnaces  and  forges  and  factories  have 
invaded  this  vestibule  of  the  mountains.  Hotels  and 
palaces  are  taking  the  place  of  the  log  cabin,  and  with 
them  come  the  kindergarten  and  the  college.  Here 
where  the  first  explorers  threaded  their  cautious  way 
amidst  the  forest,  and  where  the  later  settler  built  his 
stockaded  and  loopholed  home,  here  where  so  long 
brooded  the  stillness  of  the  backwoods  and  where 
dreamed  the  slow-moving  thought  of  a  belated  people, 
here  has  sprung  to  life  at  last  the  dominant,  insistent, 
driving  civilization  of  the  twentieth  century. 

This  is  the  manifest  destiny  of  the  mountain  country 
everywhere,  whether  for  more  good  or  for  more  evil, 
let  them  say  who  can  see.  Elements  there  are  in  the  new 
civilization  that  make  for  good;  others  there 'are  which 
tend  to  evil.  The  forces  of  religion  and  of  education 
are  at  work  in  the  midst  of  the  dominant  industrial- 
ism. Whether  the  happy  ideals  of  this  last  century 
— which  are  the  age-old  ideals  of  Christianity  —  shall 
prevail  over  the  loud  business  of  Mammon,  depends 
upon  the  devotion  and  the  diligence  of  those  who  minister 
them.  Before  the  inflowing  of  this  new  culture  the  moun- 
taineers are  changing.  Some  there  are  who  readily  as- 
similate the  standards  and  methods  of  their  teachers, 
and  become  merged  in  the  new  life.  Some,  troubled 
and  resentful  at  the  invasion,  are  retiring  into  the  yet 
untouched  wilderness  where  they  can  continue  their 
traditional  mode  of  life.  But  more  there  are  who  re- 
main under  the  influence  of  the  new  conditions,  becom- 
ing not  its  masters  but  its  slaves.  Poor  in  goods  they 
were,  and  poor  hi  goods  they  remain.  Contented  in 
their  station  they  were,  sometimes  with  a  despairing 
content;  but  now,  seeing  a  new  and  more  expensive 
standard  of  living,  they  are  discontented  with  a  deeper 
despair.  Independent  and  proud  of  spirit  they  were 
in  their  single-class  society;  now,  a  lower  stratum  in  a 


92  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

complex  world,  they  are  learning  to  bow  and  cringe 
to  the  superior  power.  The  break-up  of  the  primitive 
society  of  the  mountains  by  the  industrial  invasion, 
without  a  more  than  equal  educational  and  religious 
uplift,  means  nothing  but  a  reduction  to  the  lower  terms 
of  a  class  society. 

The  industrial  exploitation  of  a  great  part  of  the 
mountains  is  inevitable.  When  it  begins,  it  works  with 
far  greater  rapidity  than  the  philanthropic  forces  work; 
because  it  is  able  to  command  greater  capital  and  it 
attracts  a  larger  force  of  agents.  It  has  its  psychical  as 
well  as  its  economic  value,  but  it  carries  with  it  a  menace 
as  well  as  a  promise. 

Yet  after  all,  the  new  life,  wherever  it  reaches,  of- 
fers to  the  mountaineer  the  same  choice  of  selection 
that  the  rest  of  the  world  have  long  had.  Does  he  choose, 
and  is  he  able,  he  may  join  the  pushing,  jostling  crowd 
of  money-seekers,  and  with  a  shrewdness  no  whit  in- 
ferior, run  a  fair  race  with  all  the  rest.  Is  he  content  with 
meat  and  drink,  and  nothing  of  higher  life,  he  can  find 
the  plane  of  the  wage-earner,  with  a  freer  spending 
ability  than  he  ever  yet  has  known.  But  does  he  look 
for  a  broader  vision,  a  higher  life,  a  deeper  power,  there 
too  lie  at  his  hand,  or  near  enough  to  invite  effort,  the 
instruments  for  culture  and  development.  Thank  God 
that  the  heart  of  Christianity  has  not  entirely  forgot- 
ten the  mountains.  The  school  is  being  put  within  the 
reach  of  the  needy;  and  though  yet  inadequate  to  the 
great  needs,  it  is  reaching  forth  with  one  hand  to  help 
the  aspiring  child  of  the  mountains,  and  with  the  other 
stretched  for  the  bounty  of  Christianity  that  shall  make 
its  aid  more  effective. 

As  we  stand  in  the  Gap,  and  watch,  far  over  the 
hills,  the  receding  form  of  a  romantic  isolation,  and 
nearer  at  hand,  in  the  valley,  the  clamoring,  pulsing 
forces  of  a  new  era,  our  eyes  stray  up  the  slope  until 
they  rest  upon  the  form  of  a  mediator  between  these 
old  and  these  new  forces.  The  school  has  entered  the 


The   Heart  of  Appalachia 


93 


Gap.1  It  stands  between  the  startled,  bewildered  moun- 
tain child  and  the  life  that  is  either  to  serve  him  or  to 
crush  him.  The  school  is  the  hope  of  the  mountaineer. 
Through  it  he  may  be  adjusted  to  this  more  strenuous 
life  that  threatens  to  undo  him.  By  it  his  strong,  sim- 
ple, enduring  powers  may  be  shaped  to  a  service 
unequaled  among  America's  workmen.  With  deepest  in- 
terest, then,  may  we  turn  to  a  study  of  the  forces  that 
have  been  at  work  for  this  preparation  and  direction 
of  the  men  of  the  mountains. 


representative  of  the  school  at  Cumberland  Gap  is  Lincoln 
Memorial  University,  founded  by  Gen.  O.  O.  Howard,  and  now  presided 
over  by  Dr.  George  A.  Hubbell. 


%mpanl  nf  tlpe 


"ALL  around  us  we  behold  the  sounds  of  a  com- 
ing educational  revival.  It  is  topping  our  moun- 
tains with  life  and  glory ;  it  is  spreading  a  verdure 
green  over  the  broad  plains  ;  and  it  is  rustling  like 
sweetest  music  the  leaves  of  the  forest.  Let  it  come 
and  let  it  come  quickly."  HENRY  S.  HARTZOG. 


VII 
THE  PIONEER  SCHOOL 

IF  WE  should  follow  Daniel  Boone  in  seeking  a  way  to 
the  Blue-grass  through  Cumberland  Gap,  we  should 
trace  a  trail  through  the  mountains  for  near  a  hundred 
miles  northwestward,  before  ever  we  should  see  our  de- 
sire. Then,  as  .through  a  narrow  gap  there  shows  a 
promise  of  the  plains,  we  should  climb  upon  our  right 
the  bold,  rocky  headland  of  West  Pinnacle,  and  there 
stand  long  to  gaze  out  upon  the  beauty  of  Kentucky's 
fairest  land.  For  there  stood  Daniel  Boone  when  first 
his  eyes  rested  upon  the  Blue-grass.  So  says,  at  least, 
the  local  tradition. 

But  today,  instead  of  an  untamed  wilderness  of  for- 
est and  meadow,  the  feeding-grounds  of  herds  of  elk 
and  buffalo,  with  not  so  much  as  a  log  house  or  even  a 
skin  tent  to  claim  sovereignty,  today  we  shall  behold 
a  land  of  homes  and  pastures  and  cultivated  fields. 
And  just  below  us,  scarcely  three  miles  across  the  val- 
ley of  Silver  Creek,  we  shall  point  out  —  with  what 
quickening  of  the  pulse  if  we  be  sons  of  the  mountains — 
we  shall  point  out  upon  a  little  hill  the  clustered  build- 
ings of  Berea.  For  Berea  is  in  the  van  of  the  help- 
ers of  the  mountains:  the  first  discoverer,  the  earliest 
advocate,  the  keenest  student,  the  broadest  teacher,  of 
the  mountaineer. 

Berea  was  in  the  making  before  the  mountaineer 
7  (97) 


98  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

was  recognized  as  a  people.  The  hand-clasp  of  the 
highlander  and  the  lowlander  had  so  slowly  loosened, 
from  the  day  of  the  Revolution  to  that  of  the  Civil 
War,  that  neither  well  knew  they  had  lost  touch.  The 
nation,  clamorous  in  debate,  had  forgotten  the  moun- 
taineer. The  North  drew  a  line  from  east  to  west,  and 
began  to  speak  of  the  Solid  South.  The  South,  seaboard 
and  inland,  if  it  thought  of  the  mountains  at  all,  thought 
of  them  as  its  back  yard,  neglected,  perhaps,  but  inalien- 
able. 

Then  the  mountains  began  to  awake,  and  Berea 
was  there  to  witness  the  awakening.  About  the  year 
1846,  a  young  Kentuckian,  John  G.  Fee,  began  preach- 
ing in  his  native  State.  He  did  not  confine  his  preach- 
ing to  platitudes:  he  had  a  message,  and  he  spoke  it 
in  no  uncertain  terms.  Although  the  son  of  a  slave- 
owner, he  had,  through  the  influence  of  his  grandmother 
and  his  later  studies,  become  convinced  that  slavery 
was  sinful,  and  he  said  so,  emphatically,  insistently, 
and  with  courage.  His  father  disinherited  him,  his 
church  rebuked  him,  and  his  fellow-citizens  mobbed 
him;  but  none  of  those  things  moved  him.  So  common 
was  his  experience  of  violence,  in  which  his  family  some- 
times suffered  with  him,  that  his  daughter,  then  a  lit- 
tle girl,  said  in  later  life  that  they  were  never  disturbed 
by  the  dangers:  "They  were  to  us  like  thunder-storms, 
things  to  be  expected.  We  supposed  everybody  had 
mobs!" 

There  was  another  fighter  among  Kentucky's  anti- 
slavery  men  in  those  days,  not  a  preacher,  but  a  states- 
man, Cassius  M.  Clay.  Fearless  and  fiery,  he  faced  his 
composite  audiences  with  a  message  for  every  party. 
"This,"  he  announced  as  he  stepped  upon  the  platform 
and  held  up  a  bound  volume,  "this  is  a  copy  of  the  Holy 
Scriptures,  which  enjoins  us  to  prove  all  things  and  hold 
fast  that  which  is  good.  For  the  benefit  of  those  of 
you  who  revere  the  ordinances  of  God,  I  will  read  from 
it.  And  this "  —  lifting  another  volume  —  "is  a  copy 


The  Pioneer  School  99 

of  the  constitution  of  the  commonwealth  of  Kentucky, 
which  guarantees  to  every  citizen  the  right  of  free  speech. 
For  those  who  fear  not  God,  but  have  respect  for  the  laws 
of  men,  I  lay  it  here  beside  the  Scriptures.  For  those 
who  fear  neither  God  nor  man,  if  there  be  any  such 
present,  I  have  still  another  argument."  And  reach- 
ing down  into  his  capacious  hip  pocket,  he  produced  a 
wicked-looking  army  revolver,  and  laying  it  beside  the 
constitution  and  the  Bible  he  entered  upon  his  arraign- 
ment of  slavery. 

Of  the  same  stock  as  the  men  of  the  mountains, 
Clay  found  his  chief  supporters,  or  rather  his  most 
solid  support,  among  Kentucky's  mountaineers,  free- 
holders and  free-soilers,  men  who  owned  land,  but  who 
neither  held  nor  wished  to  hold  slaves.  Clay  owned  land 
in  Madison  County,  a  border  country,  part  Blue-grass 
and  part  mountain.  Attracted  by  Fee's  stout-hearted 
stand,  he  invited  him  to  come  and  settle  in  Madison 
County,  and  build  up  an  antislavery  church.  Fee  came, 
and  in  1854  housed  his  family  in  a  cabin  he  had  built 
in  a  thick  scrub  of  blackjack  pine,  on  a  ten-acre  tract 
Clay  gave  him. 

Around  him  gathered  a  band  of  "more  noble" 
spirits,  whom  he  organized  into  a  church  and  named 
Berea.  They  were  in  the  border  land,  the  highlands 
behind  them,  the  lowlands  in  front.  Now  came  with 
increasing  frequency  those  threats  and  raids  and  house- 
burnings  and  whippings  that  gave  the  little  Miss  Fee 
her  impressions  of  normal  life.  The  mountain  men  were 
largely  in  sympathy  with  Fee  and  his  fellows,  but  the 
Blue-grass  was  mostly  hostile,  and  did  not  hesitate  to 
show  it. 

John  G.  Fee  was  not  content  with  preaching  and 
writing  and  printing.  Looking  to  the  future,  he  hoped 
to  see  a  generation  produced  that  should  hate  slavery. 
To  this  end  there  must  be  schools.  So  he  built  a  school- 
house,  called  in  teachers  from  Oberlin  College,  and  in 
1855  Berea  School  began. 


ioo  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

Three  years  later,  Rev.  John  A.  R.  Rogers,  an 
Oberlin  man,  received  his  inward  call  to  adventurous 
service  and  came  to  Berea.  After  earnest  prayer,  Fee 
and  Rogers  and  their  companions  decided  that  God 
wanted  a  college  established  here  in  the  shadow  of  the 
mountains;  whereupon,  "in  order  to  promote  the  cause 
of  Christ,"  Berea  College  was  chartered  in  1858. 

The  questions  of  the  nation  were  beginning  to  stir 
the  highlanders.  Berea's  advent  at  this  door  of  the  moun- 
tains brought  home  to  these  freeman  the  questions  that 
were  threatening  to  split  the  nation;  and  they,  in  proud 
memory  of  Vincennes,  King's  Mountain,  and  New  Or- 
leans, of  Clark,  and  Shelby,  and  "Old  Hickory,"  silently 
took  their  stand  for  a  Union  one  and  inseparable. 

These  mountain  people,  so  steadily  backing  the 
ideals  of  Berea,  attracted  the  closer  attention  of  Rogers. 
He  perceived  that  in  the  mountaineer,  a  child  yet  un- 
weaned  from  the  ideas  that  came  with  the  birth  of  the 
nation,  there  was  a  force  to  be  reckoned  with,  and  this 
he  began  to  tell  the  nation.  His  first  social  studies  of 
the  mountaineer  were  published  in  the  New  York  In- 
dependent in  1858.  Thus  at  the  very  beginning  of  Be- 
rea, her  mission  to  the  mountains  began  to  take  form. 

But  upon  the  heels  of  this  event  came  John  Brown's 
raid  and  a  succeeding  time  of  trouble  for  two  years, 
until  the  Civil  War  broke  out  in  earnest.  In  the  strife 
of  parties  and  the  surge  of  armies,  Berea  was  tossed 
like  a  ship  upon  the  waves.  Driven  from  home,  Fee, 
Rogers,  and  others  of  the  Berea  company  came  back 
again  and  again.  During  the  time  of  then-  exile  they 
continued  to  make  payments  upon  their  land,  confident 
in  the  hope  of  seeing  Berea  fulfil  their  vision.  Though 
they  made  more  than  one  attempt,  it  was  not  until  the 
first  of  the  year  1866  that  the  school  could  be  reopened. 

Then  began  a  period  of  development,  the  fruit  of 
heroic  effort.  Berea  was  yet  in  the  wilderness,  no  rail- 
road within  half  a  hundred  miles.  Yet  in  that  wilder- 
ness, with  material  hewn  from  the  hills  or  hauled  from 


The  Pioneer  School  101 

Lexington  and  Cincinnati,  were  erected  two  three- 
story  buildings  that  were  an  aston;ehraent  not  .only  to 
the  mountaineer,  but  to  the  stray,  visitor  from  the  out- 
side world.  When,  a  dozen  yea*$ 'lateiy  the  surveyor 
for  the  incoming  railroad  emerged  from  the  wilderness 
to  catch  sight  of  Ladies'  Hall  upon  the  oak-crowned 
hill,  he  exclaimed,  " Great  Scott!  Whoever  put  up  a 
building  like  that  in  this  far-off  country  must  have  had 
faith!'7 

Though  Mr.  Rogers  retired  from  the  headship  of 
the  school  upon  the  accession  of  President  Fairchild  in 
1869,  he  remained  as  a  professor  for  many  years,  and 
was  a  trustee,  with  heart  and  soul  devoted  to  his  work, 
until  his  death  in  1906.  The  three  patriarchs,  Fee, 
Rogers,  and  Fairchild,  were  united  in  calling  to  the  presi- 
dency in  1892  the  present  head  of  Berea,  William 
Goodell  Frost. 

With  President  Frost's  accession  began  a  new  life 
in  the  school,  a  new  era  for  the  mountaineer.  From 
Oberlin,  like  his  predecessors,  he  came  with  a  heart 
prepared  to  catch  the  spirit  of  Berea's  founders,  and 
a  mind  broadened  to  the  great  problems  involved  in 
bringing  the  mountains  and  the  world  together.  To  him 
has  been  due,  more  than  to  any  other,  the  great  expan- 
sion of  Berea's  work,  the  deeper  insight  into  the  con- 
ditions of  the  mountains,  the  new  awakening  of  the 
isolated  mountaineer,  and  the  response,  in  some  measure, 
of  philanthropists  and  public  men  to  the  silent  appeal 
of  Appalachian  America. 

President  Frost  went  up  into  the  mountains  to 
learn  at  first  hand  what  were  the  conditions  that  Berea 
must  help.  And  out  of  these  investigations  have  come 
the  social  studies  which  have  helped  to  systematize 
the  work  among  the  mountaineers.  In  "the  land  of 
saddle-bags"  his  horse  carried  him  from  cabin  to  court- 
house, from  river  bottom  to  stony  mountain  farm, 
fording  streams,  climbing  cliffs,  winding  in  and  up  by 
narrow  trails,  and  being  entertained  in.  homes  of  every 


IO2  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

description  up  to  the  second  grade.  As  he  went,  he 
questioned  with  eyss  and  tongue. 

What  were,  their  resources? — The  steep  slopes  and 
the  narrow  •  .bottoms  clustered  around  the  log  house 
gave  then*  scant  inventory  of  corn  patch,  of  cow  and  hog 
and  sheep,  of  a  few  apple-trees  and  a  tangle  of  wild 
blackberries. 

Who  were  their  fathers? — When  they  remembered, 
there  came  tales  of  Union  soldiers,  of  earlier  volunteers 
for  Buena  Vista  and  New  Orleans  and  Tallapoosa, 
and  dim  memories  of  great-great-grandfathers  who  fought 
at  Kanawha  and  King's  Mountain,  and  who  with  Boone 
had  traced  then*  earlier  line  back  to  North  Carolina  and 
Pennsylvania  and  Old  England. 

What  were  their  ambitions? — Where  ambition  rose, 
mostly  in  the  young  and  artless,  it  was  to  be  strong- 
est of  arm,  surest  of  eye,  most  skilful  of  hand,  most 
faithful  to  blood,  perchance  to  become,  through  shrewd 
trade  and  honest  skill,  the  man  of  property  and  the 
recognized  leader  of  clan  and  country. 

What  were  their  accomplishments? — To  split  a 
twig  at  a  hundred  yards  with  the  rifle-ball,  to  fashion 
with  ax  and  knife  the  needs  of  then'  civilization,  from 
hewn  log  house  to  cord-bed  and  dulcimer,  to  wring  from 
a  niggardly  soil  the  sustenance  of  life  in  bread  and  shoe 
and  linsey-woolsey. 

Not  too  many  were  there  who  felt  free  to  boast  of 
superior  "book-larninV  The  boy  he  met  out  "gunnin' 
for  b'ar"  rested  his  rifle  pacifically  in  the  hollow  of  his 
arm,  while  his  bright  eyes  searched  the  face  of  the  ques- 
tioner. Could  he  write  numbers? 

" Reckon  I  can  write  some  numbers,"  was  his  guarded 
reply. 

A  strip  of  smooth  bark  made  an  examination  paper 
on  which  Dr.  Frost  wrote  the  nine  digits,  which  were 
promptly  called  by  the  young  hunter.  Then  came  com- 
binations, among  them  the  year  1897. 

"I  don't  guess  I  can  tell  that  thar." 


The  Pioneer  School  103 

The  teacher  explained,  and  then  asked,  "Do  you 
know  what  '1897'  means?" 

"Hit's  the  year,  haint  it?" 

"Yes;  but  why  is  the  year  called  1897?  It  is  1897 
years  since  what?" 

"I  never  heard  tell." 

But  he  wanted  to  know;  and  when  he  had  learned  that, 
there  rose  other  questions  in  his  mind,  beginnings  of 
questions  broad,  deep,  uncomprehended,  but  clamor- 
ing for  settlement.  Bear-hunting  fell  from  its  pedestal 
among  the  mighty  things  of  earth,  and  the  wider  knowl- 
edge, the  nobler  activity,  to  which  Berea  was  the  gate- 
way, became  the  aspiration  of  the  mountain  youth. 

These  tours  of  inquiry  have  developed  into  the  in- 
stitution of  Berea's  Extension  Service.  Today  the  li- 
brary and  farm  demonstration  wagons  of  the  college 
go  forth,  accompanied  by  teachers  and  advanced  stu- 
dents, to  carry  a  gospel  of  broader  living  and  widening 
opportunity  to  the  mountaineer.  Still  farther  go  the 
rider  on  the  sure-footed  mule,  or  the  more  independent 
pedestrian,  peering  into  the  secrets  of  the  mountains 
as  he  gives  glimpses  of  the  mysteries  without.  Every 
summer  sends  forth  these  missionaries,  delivering  lec- 
tures, lending  books,  distributing  leaflets,  exhibiting 
stereopticon  pictures  —  a  work  that  touches  five  States, 
helping  those  who  cannot  come  to  school  and  inspir- 
ing those  who  have  not  yet  wanted  to  come. 

Berea  starts  with  the  child.  Through  its  Prepara- 
tory School  it  takes  the  youngest  and  sets  his  feet  on  the 
path  toward  higher  things.  But  is  it  a  youth  already 
entered  into  his  twenties  who  first  feels  the  impulse  to 
go  to  school,  and  yet  who  fears  himself  too  late  a  be- 
ginner ever  to  reach  the  top?  There  is  waiting  for  him 
the  Foundation  School,  in  which  special  help  is  given 
those  whose  years  but  not  whose  attainments  place  them 
beyond  the  common  grades.  And  then  he  may  be  en- 
couraged to  enter  the  Vocational  School,  where  the 
young  man  is  trained  for  efficiency  as  farmer,  car- 


104  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

penter,  smith,  printer,  and  the  young  woman  as  nurse 
and  home-maker. 

Does  he  become  aroused  by  this  experience  to  master 
more,  despite  his  early  handicap?  Or  does  he  bring  his 
younger  brother  and  sister?  Is  the  spirit  of  helpfulness 
aroused  in  the  mountain  youth  and  the  determination 
to  become  teachers  of  the  broader  life  to  their  home  com- 
munities?— There  is  waiting  for  them  the  Normal  School, 
with  its  broad  training  not  only  for  the  schoolroom 
but  for  the  garden,  the  farm,  and  the  forest,  for  cooking, 
dressmaking,  and  nursing.  And  above,  for  the  few  whose 
time  and  talents  permit,  is  the  College.  Berea  is  really 
a  small  university  adapted  to  the  practical  needs  of  the 
mountain  people. 

At  such  a  school  the  mountain  boy  and  girl  put  their 
fingers  on  the  pulse  of  the  wider  world.  Not  only  are 
they  received  by  teachers,  men  and  women  of  broad 
sympathies  and  deep  understanding  of  their  nature, 
whose  help  is  consciously  given  toward  their  right  de- 
velopment; but  they  also  meet  students  from  the  low- 
land South  and  from  the  North,  of  whom  Berea  has  more 
than  a  sprinkling.  In  their  society  they  find  the  truest 
index  of  their  relations  to  the  wide  world.  They  touch 
here,  in  the  higher  life,  the  same  forces  with  which  their 
parents  wrestle  on  the  lower  plane  of  industrialism. 

They  find  the  necessity  of  adjusting  themselves  in 
some  way  to  the  rush  and  tension  of  twentieth-century 
America.  With  his  earnings  from  the  lumber  camp 
in  his  jeans,  the  boy  has  walked,  perhaps,  a  hundred 
miles  from  an  interior  county  down  here  to  "the  Set- 
tlemints,"  where  he  gets  his  first  sight  of  a  railway  tram, 
his  first  view  of  big  buildings,  his  first  impression  of  a 
complex  society.  The  girl,  side-seated  on  the  mule 
her  "pappy"  has  given  her,  has  ridden  an  equal  distance, 
now  to  turn  her  beast  into  the  cash  that  may  be  con- 
verted into  learning;  and  with  her  mountain  training 
of  greater  self-effacement  than  her  brother,  she  meets 
these  new  conditions  with  more  evident  shyness  than 


The  Pioneer  School  105 

does  he.  What  a  type  of  the  whole  life  is  to  them  the 
limited  express  that  rushes  with  flash  and  roar  past 
their  faces  at  the  station.  Alone  in  their  mountains, 
unhelped,  they  would  gaze  from  their  ox-cart  in  dull 
wonderment  or  resentment  at  the  motor-car  that  flashes 
past  on  the  new  county  road,  with  its  raucous  voice 
and  its  terrifying  haste,  to  disappear  speedily  in  its 
cloud  of  dust.  And,  with  their  father,  they  would  shrink 
from  the  intrusion  and  withdraw  farther  into  the  silence 
of  their  mountains  and  their  souls. 

But  here  at  the  school  they  feel  that  they  can  grasp 
the  wand  that  will  open  before  them  and  their  people 
then1  Red  Sea.  Though  inclination  and  duty  keep  them 
to  their  own  people,  though  they  may  not  seize  the 
chariots  of  the  Pharaoh  that  so  closely  pursue  them, 
they  may  have  a  mightier  power.  Through  the  Al- 
mighty's furrow  in  the  sea  they  may  march  upon  dry 
ground,  lighted  by  a  pillar  of  fire,  to  a  victory  that  tri- 
umphs over  chariots  and  armor.  Well  will  it  be  for  the 
mountain  people  if  in  their  progress  toward  Sinai  and  the 
Promised  Land,  there  mingle  with  them  but  few  of 
the  mixed  multitude. 

Back  into  the  mountains  go  the  trained  man  and 
woman  from  Berea,  and  there  follow  them,  slowly  but 
persistently,  the  evidences  of  order,  enlightenment,  and 
progress.  Teachers  and  home-makers,  they  are  carry- 
ing with  them  neatness,  knowledge,  skill,  and  patience. 
The  young  man  develops  his  father's  farm,  rebuilds  his 
mother's  home,  turns  the  "blab  school"  finally  into  a 
better-housed,  truly  disciplined,  and  progressive  insti- 
tution whose  power  is  not  to  be  measured  by  its  size. 
The  young  woman  makes  a  home  where  there  was  only  a 
house,  brings  in  hygiene  of  dress  and  diet  and  personal 
habit;  and  she  runs  no  whit  behind  the  man  in  the  cour- 
age and  energy  with  which  she  lifts  communities  by  that 
mightiest  lever,  the  school. 

The  problem  in  the  school  is  not  of  the  pupils  alone: 
it  is  of  the  community.  For  generations  which  have 


io6  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

received  the  traditions  of  the  "old  field  school,"  its 
carelessness,  its  crudity,  and  its  rough  and  coarse  ideals, 
finding  pleasure  more  in  its  omissions  and  irruptions 
than  in  its  regularities,  accustomed  to  idling  and  ab- 
sences and  trouncings  of  the  teacher — such  generations 
have  instilled  into  the  young  manhood  of  the  mountains 
the  idea  that  the  school  is  meant  as  the  butt  of  horse- 
play. This  spirit  must  many  times  be  reckoned  with 
by  the  girl  teacher  as  well  as  the  man  teacher.  Of  the 
way  she  meets  it,  an  appreciative  old  man  of  the  moun- 
tains testifies: 

"I  tell  yeou  hit  teks  a  moughty  resolute  gal  ter  do 
what  that  thar  gal  has  done.  She  got  I  reckon  about 
the  toughest  deestric  in  the  county,  which  is  sayin'  a 
good  deal.  An'  then  fer  a  boardin'  place  —  well,  thar 
warn't  much  choice.  Thar  was  one  house  with  one 
room.  But  she  kep'  right  on,  an'  yeou  would  hev 
thought  she  was  havin'  the  finest  kind  of  a  time  ter  look 
at  her.  An'  then  the  last  day,  when  they  was  sayin' 
their  pieces  an'  sich,  some  sorry  fellers  come  in  thar 
full  o'  moonshine,  an'  shot  ther  revolvers.  I'm  a-tellin' 
ye  hit  teks  a  moughty  resolute  gal." 

The  mountaineer  and  his  well-wishers  look  with  af- 
fection and  hope  toward  that  pioneer  of  the  mountain 
schools,  Berea.  Others  have  taken  up  the  work,  nobly 
daring  and  enduring  and  succeeding,  but  there  can  be 
none  of  them  that  will  refuse  today  the  salute  of  res- 
pect and  love  to  the  living  monument  planted  and 
shaped  by  Fee  and  Rogers,  Fairchild  and  Frost.  Its 
birth  half  a  century  ago  was  in  a  log  cabin,  with  a  score 
of  students;  today,  with  piles  of  brick  and  stone  it  houses 
seventeen  hundred  children  of  the  mountains,  seeking 
to  fit  them  to  meet  the  duties  of  the  new  age  as  their 
fathers  nobly  met  the  old.  Is  there  not  hope  that,  as 
the  periods  of  the  Revolution,  the  expansion,  and  the 
Rebellion  found  the  mountaineer  meeting  the  emer- 
gencies with  leaders  and  following,  so  the  present  era, 
with  its  more  dazzling  opportunities  and  its  more  subtle 


The  Pioneer  School  107 

dangers,  may  find  in  him,  if  opportunity  serve,  a  bul- 
wark of  the  freedom  and  virtue  of  America?  Says 
President  Frost: 

"The  whole  case  of  the  mountaineer  may  be  summed 
up  in  the  story  of  Abraham  Lincoln.  His  great  career 
hinged  upon  the  fact  that  his  mother  had  six  books.  In 
that  circumstance  he  differed  from  the  other  boys  of 
the  region.  Is  it  too  much  to  say  that  but  for  that  ray 
of  light,  his  great  soul  would  have  been  strangled  in  the 
birth?" 

To  such  institutions  as  Berea  College  the  mountains 
owe  a  debt.  And  the  mountains  are  paying  it  in  trained 
and  resolute  men  and  women  who  are  giving  their  all 
to  the  uplift  of  their  fellows  who  may  yet  make  the 
backbone  of  America's  liberty.  To  such  institutions 
as  Berea  America  owes  a  debt;  for  they  are  making  to 
America  a  bequest  more  precious  than  the  treasures  of  the 
mines,  the  wealth  of  the  plains,  and  the  commerce  of  the 
city  marts.  And  America  has  but  in  small  part  discharged 
its  debt.  Some  coins  have  day  by  day  been  dropped 
into  the  treasury  by  the  rich  men,  some  little  equipment, 
some  wider  facilities  have  been  added  now  and  again 
to  the  tremendous  investment  due  to  Appalachia;  but 
still  the  army  of  the  mountain  helpers  may  say  of  their 
work  as  Berea  says:  "Berea  never  can  be  rich  as  long 
as  anybody  in  the  mountains  is  poor!" 


VIII 

THE  PREMIER  OP  HOME  MISSIONS 

IT  IS  a  fact  little  known  that  up  to  1830  the  greatest 
strength  of  the  antislavery  forces  in  America  lay  in 
the  Southern  States.  The  Northeast  had  shuffled  off 
its  soiled  garments  of  slavery,  the  Northwest  had  never 
put  them  on,  and  thus  they  had  largely  escaped  the  dis- 
comfort of  mind  and  the  tortures  of  soul  that  went 
with  the  slavery  question. 

But  the  South  was  struggling  with  a  conscience. 
Its  rice  and  cane  and  cotton  fields  were  teeming  with 
slaves  whose  labor  a  wrong-headed  philosophy  declared 
profitable.  Yet  the  great  majority  of  Southern  white 
men  were  not  slave-owners.  Where  there  was  one  who 
owned  slaves,  there  were  perhaps  ten  who  owned  none;1 
and  from  among  these  ten  there  were  many  who  spoke 
out  against  slavery,  who  demanded  its  abolition.  Of 
the  one  hundred  twenty  antislavery  societies  in  the 
United  States  in  1830,  eighty  were  in  the  South.  Of 
the  forty  in  the  North,  Pennsylvania  claimed  twenty 
and  Ohio  sixteen.3 

1  Hart,  Slavery  and  Abolition,  pp.  67,  68.  Hart  states  that  only  one 
in  thirty-three  of  the  population  of  the  South  held  slaves.  As  he  reckons 
each  of  these  to  be  the  head  of  a  family,  however,  he  thinks  the  true 
proportion  of  the  slave-holding  class  to  the  nonslave-holding  class  was 
one  to  four  or  five.  But  this  seems  a  very  high  estimate;  for  there  were 
many  slave-owners  with  no  family,  and  there  were  many  families  in  which 
not  only  the  father  but  the  mother  and  some  of  the  children  owned  slaves. 
One  in  ten  would  be  a  safer  estimate. 

1  Adams,  The  Neglected  Period  of  Antislavery ',  p.  154. 
(108) 


The  Premier  of  Home  Missions  109 

But  in  1830  came  Garrison,  the  firebrand  of  aboli- 
tion, declaring  slavery  to  be  a  sectional  sin  rather  than  a 
national  or  a  class  wrong.  He  and  his  followers  began 
to  array  the  North  against  the  South.  They  were  men 
of  one  idea,  of  one  aim,  and  they  shot  straight.  Un- 
fortunately, their  single-mindedness  took  no  account 
of  the  fact  that  the  main  forces  of  their  antislavery 
army  were  on  the  battle-front  toward  which  they  were 
pointing  their  straight-shooting  guns.  They  took  their 
friends  in  the  rear;  the  abolition  army  of  the  South 
crumpled  up,  broke,  scattered.  Its  outposts  disappeared 
from  the  Gulf  States,  its  strong  battle  line  retreated 
from  North  Carolina,  Tennessee,  Virginia,  Maryland. 
Only  in  one  State  of  Dixie  still  thundered  the  guns  of 
an  antislavery  force. 

That  State  was  Kentucky.  There  the  mountain 
statesman,  Cassius  M.  Clay,  pressed  the  demands  of  the 
free-soilers  for  the  abolition  of  slavery.  There  the  Blue- 
grass  preacher,  John  G.  Fee,  in  the  face  of  terrorism, 
insult,  abuse,  and  mobbing,  held  forth  from  his  pulpit 
the  doctrine  of  liberty.  Kentucky  was  the  last  contested 
ground  between  slavery  and  freedom  before  the  case 
was  taken  from  the  court  of  logic  to  the  field  of  arms. 

And  there  the  battle  was  bitter.  Fee,  deserted  by 
his  relatives,  discountenanced  by  his  church,  estranged 
even  from  Clay  at  last  by  his  advocacy  of  a  "higher 
law"  than  the  Constitution,  and  finding  it  impossible 
to  support  his  work  on  what  his  poor  Mends  of  the  moun- 
tains and  the  border  were  able  to  give  bim,  at  last  tinned 
his  eyes  to  the  North  for  help. 

There  was  little  there  to  encourage  him;  for  the 
first  fruits  of  Garrison's  propaganda  had  been  the  arous- 
ing of  the  neutral  North  to  a  violent  opposition.  Aboli- 
tionists —  Garrisonians  and  Moderates  alike  —  were 
hated,  denounced,  and  mobbed.  Abolition,  wblch  had 
been  driven  from  the  South  and  was  hard  pressed  on 
the  border,  was  also  beleaguered  in  its  new  Northern 
stronghold. 


no  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

But  in  one  quarter  Fee  found  help.  Two  years  be- 
fore Fee's  appeal,  there  had  been  organized,  hi  1846, 
at  Albany,  N.  Y.,  the  American  Missionary  Associa- 
tion, a  body  called  into  existence  by  the  zeal  of  men 
who  "would  sustain  missions  for  the  propagation  of  a  pure 
and  free  Christianity/'  and  "  institute  arrangements  for 
gathering  and  sustaining  churches  in  heathen  lands  from 
which  the  sins  of  caste,  polygamy,  slave-holding,  and 
the  like  shall  be  excluded."  This  organization  was  a 
protest  against  the  attitude  of  other  missionary  societies 
then  existing  which  refused  to  take  a  definite  stand 
against  slavery.  The  American  Missionary  Associa- 
tion at  first  took  over  and  conducted  some  foreign  mis- 
sion stations  which  had  been  independently  established 
by  its  supporters,  but  its  "Home  Department,"  which 
was  soon  formed  to  carry  on  work  among  the  Indians, 
negroes,  and  other  foreign  peoples  in  American  posses- 
sions, became  in  time  its  only  work. 

Fee's  appeal  did  not  go  unheeded,  and  in  the  fall  of 
1848  the  association  sent  him  its  commission,  and  prom- 
ised its  financial  and  moral  support.  This  was  continued 
until  near  the  tune  of  the  Civil  War.  Thus,  in  that  ear- 
liest work  which  Fee  and  his  colaborers  of  Berea  Col- 
lege began  for  the  Kentucky  mountaineer,  the  American 
Missionary  Association  had  its  place  and  part. 

Its  attention  thus  turned  to  the  mountaineer  by  Fee's 
stand  before  the  mountain  wall,  the  association  began 
to  seek  an  alliance  with  the  highlander  in  other  parts. 
Into  the  mountains  and  foothills  of  North  Carolina, 
whence  came  in  1857  Helper's  clarion  challenge  to 
slavery,  the  association  sent  Daniel  Worth,  a  man  of 
fearless  courage  and  commanding  eloquence,  who  there 
played  well  the  part  of  Fee  in  Kentucky.  Several  sta- 
tions were  established  in  Kentucky  and  North  Caro- 
lina, destined  however,  to  a  short  life;  for  when  in  1859, 
John  Brown  raided  Harper's  Ferry,  the  shudder  of  fear 
that  shook  the  South  sent  all  the  Association  missions, 
along  with  Berea,,  into  exile.  This  closed  for  twenty-five 


The  Premier  of  Home  Missions  1 1 1 

years  the  work  of  the  American  Missionary  Association 
among  the  mountaineers.  Invited  by  Berea's  founder, 
it  had  been  the  first  of  missionary  organizations  to  turn 
toward  a  helping  of  the  mountain  people;  and  though 
immediately  after  the  Civil  War  its  energies  were  chiefly 
absorbed  in  the  great  task  thrown  upon  the  nation  by 
the  needs  of  the  freedmen,  it  was  again  among  the  first 
to  take  up  work  for  the  mountaineer. 

In  1884,  when  the  stress  of  the  work  for  the  freedman 
had  begun  to  slacken,  and  when  the  mountains  had  be- 
gun to  open  to  outside  capital  their  wealth  of  iron  and 
coal  and  timber,  then  also  their  spiritual  treasures  be- 
gan to  call  again  for  the  developing  forces  of  Christi- 
anity. An  appeal  was  made  to  the  American  Missionary 
Association  to  establish  schools  for  the  mountaineer, 
and  the  association,  responding,  picked  up  the  work 
it  had  been  compelled  a  quarter  of  a  century  before  to 
abandon.  Williamsburg,  Kentucky,  a  county-seat  in 
the  midst  of  mountains,  which  had  lived  its  sixty-seven 
years  without  a  church  building  and  with  scarce  a  school 
for  itself  or  its  county,  was  selected  as  the  first  point 
of  occupancy.  Here  was  erected  Williamsburg  Academy, 
the  first  of  ten  institutions  of  higher  grade,  besides 
many  primary  schools,  to  be  established  from  Kentucky 
to  Georgia  as  the  response  of  the  American  Missionary 
Association  to  the  needs  of  the  mountains. 

Industrial  education  was  a  feature  of  the  program 
of  this  Association  in  its  first  school  among  the  Mendi 
people  in  Africa.  And  the  industrial  feature  has  con- 
tinued to  be  a  part  of  its  work  in  its  schools  among 
the  mountaineers  as  well  as  among  the  negroes  and  other 
peoples.  The  nature  of  this  industrial  work  has  been 
such  as  the  needs  of  the  schools  and  their  communities 
demanded.  It  may  be  a  splendid  achievement  to  train 
a  young  man  as  a  civil  engineer,  but  if  the  immediate 
needs  of  his  home  point  to  the  woodpile  and  the  saw- 
mill, it  shows  a  more  profound  understanding  of  peda- 
gogy to  put  the  ax  and  the  cant-hook  into  his  hands. 


ii2  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

The  character  of  the  industrial  training  the  Association 
has  provided  may  be  illustrated  by  an  extract  from  a 
paper  by  the  principal  of  Pleasant  Hill  Academy  on 
the  Cumberland  Plateau  in  Tennessee: 

"We  were  fortunate  in  the  first  five  years  of  my 
principalship  in  having  in  Pleasant  Hill  our  dear  Father 
Dodge,  who  had  the  happy  faculty  of  getting  at  North- 
ern pocketbooks,  so  that  many  young  people  were 
given  an  opportunity  to  be  in  school  who  would  not 
otherwise  have  been  able  to  do  so. 

"As  the  young  men  and  young  women  were  given 
the  opportunity  to  enter  school,  it  was  felt  that,  to  make 
our  help  wise,  we  must  require  tl  m  to  give  some  equiva- 
lent for  their  chances.  It  was  not  difficult  to  provide 
housework  —  dish-washing,  sweeping,  cooking,  and  iron- 
ing, for  girls;  and  we  could  use  several  boys  in  the  heavier 
work  of  the  boarding  department  and  as  janitors,  but 
it  was  more  difficult  to  provide  for  still  others. 

"The  first  fall  we  added  sheds  to  our  very  small 
barn,  cut  considerable  wood,  and  did  some  repairing. 
During  our  first  vacation  two  student  young  men  built 
a  cottage  for  friends  of  the  principal,  and  in  the  follow- 
ing autumn  a  storeroom  was  added  to  the  girls'  hall, 
and  a  bath-room  was  fitted  up. 

"Father  Dodge  conceived  the  plan  of  buying  out 
an  old  mill  property  near  at  hand  and  fitting  it  up  with 
modern  machinery.  In  this  he  was  successful,  so  we  have 
the  mill.  Thus  we  count  our  mill  a  great  factor  in  the 
enlargement  of  our  whole  work,  as  well  as  the  industrial 
department.  Only  one  man  has  been  employed  regu- 
larly in  the  mill,  the  rest  of  the  work  being  done  mainly 
by  the  student  boys. 

"Through  this  instrumentality  twenty  homes  have 
been  erected  in  Pleasant  Hill  in  the  last  three  years, 
thus  affording  increasing  opportunities  for  families  to 
avail  themselves  of  the  privileges  of  the  school;  and 
besides  this,  forty  or  fifty  homes  have  been  built,  im- 
proved, or  repaired  within  a  radius  of  twenty  miles. 


The  Premier  of  the  Missions  113 

"  Three  years  ago  we  were  very  much  crowded  for 
dormitory  room  for  the  boys.  Dodge  Hall  was  erected, 
a  brick  building,  three  stories  in  front  and  four  behind, 
eighty  feet  long  and  forty  feet  wide.  Brick  would  have 
cost  twenty-five  dollars  a  thousand  if  brought  from  their 
place  of  manufacture,  so  we  called  in  some  of  our  boys, 
secured  a  brick-maker  to  direct,  and  soon  had  150,000 
brick  ready  for  use  at  the  cost  of  five  or  six  dollars  per 
thousand. 

"When  it  came  to  laying  the  brick,  the  lime  would 
have  cost  forty  cents  a  bushel,  delivered,  so  we  built 
a  lime-kiln  on  the  side  of  the  mountain,  about  seven  miles 
away,  and  secured  our  lime  at  half  that  rate.  We  bought 
the  standing  timber  at  one  dollar  a  thousand,  hauled 
it  to  the  mill  —  much  of  it  with  our  own  academy  team 
—  and  prepared  it  for  the  inside  work. 

"Our  own  boys  and  parents  of  our  girls  and  boys 
did  nearly  all  the  carpentry  work.  All  the  finishing 
material  for  stairway,  molding,  ceiling  and  flooring 
was  prepared  at  our  mill.  We  kept  down  expenses  so 
well  that  we  called  on  Northern  friends  for  only  $2,500, 
and  did  not  call  on  the  Association  treasury  for  a  penny, 
yet  fair  Northern  judges  state  that  it  would  cost,  com- 
pleted, $8,000  or  $10,000  there.  This  hall  contains 
rooms  for  sixty  boys,  besides  rooms  for  principal,  boys' 
reading-room,  guest-room,  and  basement  for  shop  and 
woodhouse. 

"Since  the  erection  of  Dodge  Hall  various  forms  of 
work  have  been  done.  Hundreds  of  rods  of  fencing  have 
been  built,  hundreds  of  feet  of  sidewalk,  work  in  black- 
smithing  and  wagon  repairing,  repairing  and  making  of 
furniture — wardrobes,  dining-room  tables,  wash-stands, 
small  tables  and  book-cases,  picture-frames  and  so  forth; 
ground  cleared  for  cultivation,  and  last  year  twelve  or 
fifteen  acres  cultivated;  several  tons  of  hay,  as  a  result, 
put  into  the  new  barn." 

The  American  Missionary  Association  was  organized 
as  a  non-sectarian  agency,  and  for  many  years  received 
8 


H4  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

support  from  various  of  the  great  religious  bodies.  After 
the  war,  however,  as  these  churches  developed  particu- 
lar work  and  organizations  within  their  own  constit- 
uencies, the  American  Missionary  Association  was  left 
more  and  more  fully  to  the  care  of  the  Congregational 
Church,  members  of  which  were  largely  instrumental 
in  its  founding;  and  today  this  church  stands  chief  spon- 
sor for  the  Association. 

The  work  of  the  American  Missionary  Association 
is  not  confined  to  the  mountaineers  among  the  white 
people  of  the  South,  but  through  its  schools  and  mis- 
sionaries extends  into  the  lowlands.  Its  highest  school 
for  whites  is  Atlanta  Theological  Seminary,  located  in 
the  capital  city  of  'Georgia.  The  association  is  one  of 
the  chief  agencies,  as  it  was  the  earliest,  at  work  among 
both  negro  and  white  elements  in  the  South,  and  while 
at  the  present  time  it  is  not  the  largest  society  operating 
in  these  fields,  its  thin  skirmish  line  is  stretched  over 
a  wider  space,  and  its  outlook  is  therefore  perhaps  the 
more  comprehensive. 

The  policy  of  this  Association,  in  distinction  from  that 
of  many  other  agencies,  has  been  to  diffuse  its  benefits 
among  the  people  through  many  small  schools,  rather 
than  to  concentrate  them  in  a  few  large  centers.  Says 
one  of  its  spokesmen: 

"From  the  standpoint  of  financial  support  this  has 
required  courage.  Experienced  money-raisers  testify 
that  they  can  more  easily  secure  funds  for  one  or  two 
big  schools  than  for  many  smaller  ones.  Such  is  the  ten- 
dency of  present-day  philanthropy.  It  likes  great  show 
and  to  settle  upon  large  institutions:  to  the  school  that 
hath  shall  be  given.  The  American  is  peculiarly  under 
the  spell  of  bigness.  A  single  one  of  the  larger  institu- 
tions of  the  Association  might  well  absorb  its  entire  cur- 
rent income.  Such  an  institution  would  then  be  able 
to  dominate  the  imagination  of  the  public  along  with 
the  one  or  two  which  now  monopolize  it. 

"In  spite  of  all  this  the  policy  of  diffusion  is  the  de- 


The  Premier  of  Home  Missions  115 

liberate  choice.  The  most  distinctive  American  school 
is  the  small  college,  in  intimate  relations  with  its  com- 
munity and  with  a  constituency  chiefly  local.  As  a 
type  it  is  more  widely  useful  than  a  great  university  ever 
can  be.  Not  only  is  the  education  of  the  smaller  school 
apt  to  be  sounder  and  its  administration  invariably 
more  economic — but  it  remains  closer  to  the  people/'1 

The  force  of  these  words,  the  value  of  this  policy, 
will  be  recognized  by  every  one  who  has  been  in  posi- 
tion to  make  a  comparative  study  of  the  results  of  the 
small  and  the  large  school,  and  who  remembers,  further- 
more, that  God's  model  of  the  school  is  the  home,  not 
the  monastery. 

Of  the  position  of  this  Christian  missionary  body, 
Dr.  A.  D.  Mayo  says: 

"The  first,  and  still  the  most  notable,  of  the  several 
great  missionary  associations  ...  in  the  Southern 
States,  through  schools  of  every  grade  and  the  ordinary 
methods  of  mission  work  employed  by  the  evangelical 
Protestant  churches  in  the  Northern  United  States, 
was  the  American  Missionary  Association." 

The  American  Missionary  Association  is  today,  in 
its  history  as  well  as  its  spirit  of  evangelism  and  educa- 
tion, the  premier  home  mission  society  of  America. 

1  Douglass,  Christian  Reconstruction  in  the  South,  pp.  210,  211. 


IX 
REDEEMING  THE  TIME 

ONCE,  in  the  early  days  of  the  nation,  the  churches 
of  America  were  roused  to  a  sense  of  duty  to  the 
mountains  and  the  country  just  beyond.  The  frontier, 
so  came  the  report,  was  sinking  in  iniquity  and  godless- 
ness.  Then  the  Methodists  sent  in  their  circuit-riders, 
the  Baptists  followed  hard  upon  their  heels,  and  the 
Presbyterians  awoke  to  a  new  power  among  the  forget- 
ful children  of  their  kirk.  So  came  the  " Great  Revival" 
of  1800.  The  West,  from  being  godless,  became  the 
wellspring  of  a  new  life  in  America's  religion. 

But  then,  the  deed  done,  the  gift  bestowed,  the 
church  forgot  the  mountain  people,  and  left  them  to 
themselves.  The  momentum  of  the  "  Great  Revival " 
carried  them  far.  It  reopened  and  made  to  flow  freely 
the  springs  of  reverence  which  had  become  choked  with 
worldliness  and  ignorance.  And  even  today  the  rough 
clearing  of  that  great  movement  shows  its  traces  in  the 
religion  of  the  mountains. 

But  that  was  not  sufficient.  That  did  not  end  the 
mission  of  the  church.  Elsewhere  the  spiritual  and  the 
mental  life  have  been  developed,  shaped,  polished,  by 
contact  with  the  world's  life  current.  But  here  in  the 
mountains,  without  schools,  without  broad  intercourse, 
it  swirled  in  its  little  eddy,  stationary,  and  ever  more 
faint.  For  more  than  three  quarters  of  a  century  the 
(116) 


Redeeming  the  Time  117 

church  forgot  the  mountaineer,  and  the  nation  remem- 
bered him  only  to  require  service,  not  to  give  it.  The 
mountaineer  had  entered  his  lot  abreast  of  the  world. 
It  was  at  a  time  when  the  railroad  was  yet  unknown, 
the  printing  press  a  luxury,  the  school  a  costly  privilege. 
Without  the  railroad  or  canals  or  good  roads,  there  was 
little  trade,  little  travel.  Without  the  newspaper,  with 
practically  no  books,  there  was  little  exchange  of  thought 
or  community  of  purpose.  Without  schools,  with  read- 
ing and  writing  the  distinction  of  the  great,  there  could 
be  no  progress.  Thus  the  mountaineer  became  a  fixed 
type,  the  type  of  that  pioneer  life  of  his  beginnings. 

And  that  was  at  a  time  when  the  world  was  just 
beginning  that  marvelous  leaping  march  which  has 
crowded  the  progress  of  a  thousand  centuries  into  one. 
Who  could  foretell,  when  the  mountains  wove  their 
people  into  their  chrysalis,  what  ink  and  steam  and 
electricity  were  about  to  do  to  the  world?  or  how  far 
behind  its  advance  wras  to  leave  those  who  were  made 
to  stand  still?  Busied  with  their  own  race,  the  world 
and  the  church  forgot  the  sleeper  in  the  hills. 

When,  therefore,  after  eighty  years  of  neglect,  the 
church  felt  the  tug  of  the  mountaineer  upon  her  skirts, 
and  turned  to  reach  a  helping  hand,  she  found  that  a 
mighty  pull  was  needed  to  bring  him  to  her  side.  There 
was  more  than  a  century  of  time  to  redeem. 

The  religious  movement  of  the  early  nineteenth 
century  left  the  mountain  church  Baptist  and  Metho- 
dist, more  largely  Baptist.1  What  was  more  natural  than 
that  these  churches  should  regard  the  field  as  occupied 
and  competent  to  meet  its  own  needs?  The  detached 
congregational  system  of  the  Baptists  made  local  re- 
sponsibility the  greater,  while  by  the  split  in  the  Metho- 

1  Baptists  in  the  mountains  make  forty-eight  per  cent  of  the  total 
church-membership.  Thirty-one  per  cent  are  Methodists,  six  per  cent 
Presbyterians,  and  five  per  cent  Disciples.  Episcopalians  have  about 
seven-tenths  of  one  per  cent,  mostly  in  the'  towns.  Roman  Catholics 
are  practically  unknown,  except  among  the  foreign  populations  of  the 
mining  districts  and  in  the  few  cities. 


n8  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

dist  Church  over  slavery,  the  mountain  churches  — 
spiritual  kin  to  the  North  but  living  in  the  South  — 
were  left  orphans. 

Among  themselves,  the  Baptists  and  Methodists  of 
the  mountains  did  provide  such  facilities  for  education 
as  their  resources  permitted,  and  a  considerable  number 
of  academies,  seminaries,  and  colleges  attest  their  zeal 
for  education.  Yet  these  have  touched  but  a  small 
proportion  of  even  their  ministers,  the  class  for  which 
they  are  specially  designed.  The  Northern  branches 
of  these  two  churches  have  left  the  problem  of  the 
mountains  to  the  Southern  divisions,  and  these  have  in 
comparatively  recent  times  taken  up  the  work  of  reen- 
forcement  of  their  forces  in  the  mountains. 

In  1898  the  Southern  Baptist  Home  Mission  Board 
turned  its  attention  to  the  development  of  the  mountain 
people  by  assisting  in  the  establishment  and  support 
of  mission  schools.  In  six  mountain  States  they  now 
have  thirty-three  schools  of  academic  grade  and  one 
college,  in  which  are  five  thousand  youth  under  train- 
ing. Several  of  these  schools  are  located  upon  small 
farms,  and  the  board  is  encouraging  the  beginning  of 
industrial  education. 

Work  among  the  mountaineers  on  the  part  of  Southern 
Methodists,  under  charge  of  the  Home  Department  of 
the  Woman's  Missionary  Council,  was  inaugurated  in 
1897,  as  the  result  of  one  woman's  determination  to 
"  illumine  some  dark  corner."  Miss  Bennett's  longing 
to  see  a  permanent  educational  work  established  in  the 
Kentucky  mountains  was  not  gratified  before  her  early 
death,  but  today  the  Sue  Bennett  Memorial  School  at 
London,  Kentucky,  with  an  enrolment  of  over  three 
hundred  students,  is  the  monument  to  her  devotion. 
The  Home  Department  has  one  other  school,  Brevard 
Institute,  in  the  beautiful  upper  valley  of  the  French 
Broad  in  North  Carolina;  and  the  department  stands 
behind  the  movement,  now  gaining  momentum  among 
Southern  Methodists,  to  widen  the  opportunities  and 


Redeeming  the  Time  119 

develop    the   talents   of   their   mountain   constituency. 

Over  hi  Virginia,  the  patrimony  of  the  Episcopal 
Church,  there  had  never  been  anything  done  for  the 
Blue  Ridge  mountaineers.  "If  it  be  asked,"  says  one 
of  its  spokesmen,  "why  have  these  mountaineers  been 
neglected  and  allowed  to  sink  to  the  low  level  on  which 
we  find  them  today,  when  the  church  has  been  at  work 
hi  Virginia  for  so  long  a  tune? —  the  answer  is,  that 
after  the  Revolutionary  War,  the  church  was  at  such  a 
low  ebb  that  its  life  was  nearly  extinguished.  After 
its  revival  under  Bishop  Meade,  the  Civil  War  came  on, 
which  swept  away  the  wealth  and  property  of  the  church- 
men, and  from  this  impoverished  condition  they  have 
only  lately  begun  to  recover.  In  addition  to  this  it  must 
be  remembered  that  the  church  in  Virginia  has  inherited 
a  large  number  of  country  parishes  from  old  colonial 
times,  and  the  great  problem  for  many  years  has  been 
how  to  keep  these  parishes  going,  and  the  churches  open." 

But  the  time  of  action  had  come.  The  church  sent 
a  young  worker,  Archdeacon  Neve,  to  a  parish  that 
touched  the  Blue  Ridge.  In  his  visits  among  the  people, 
he  soon  came  into  touch  with  some  of  the  backward 
communities  who  had  no  church,  no  school,  no  wide 
view  nor  high  ideals  of  life.  His  sympathies  were  aroused. 
He  drew  first  his  parishioners,  and  then  others,  into  his 
work  of  uplift. 

It  was  not  exactly  a  sympathetic  subject  that  re- 
ceived their  first  ministrations.  A  friendly  visit  in  the 
log  home,  a  prayer,  a  sermon  —  these  were  very  well 
and  quite  proper,  no  doubt,  as  the  work  of  a  church- 
man; and  here  and  there  a  soul  hungering  for  spiritual 
food  broke  through  the  barriers  to  respond  to  the  advances 
of  the  minister.  But  any  step  beyond  the  narrow  limits 
of  the  Episcopal  service  was  met  with  suspicion.  Was 
land  wanted  on  which  to  establish  a  mission? —  the  owner 
suspected  the  presence  of  undiscovered  mineral  wealth, 
and  refused  to  sell.  Was  a  school  proposed? —  the  ob- 
ject (echoes  of  1812!)  was  to  get  hold  of  children,  to 


120  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

ship  them  over  to  England,  and  put  them  into  the 
British  army.  Was  a  building  at  last  hi  process  of  erec- 
tion?—  it  was  a  railroad  station  to  serve  the  yet  un- 
discovered designs  of  the  "furriners." 

Such  an  attitude  could  be  met  only  by  patient  living 
and  ministry.  A  party  of  young  students  one  summer 
camped  out  on  top  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  and  anxious  to 
do  some  good  while  there,  they  visited  the  homes  of  the 
people  about  and  read  to  them  from  the  Bible.  Among 
a  class  many  of  whom  had  never  heard  a  sermon  nor 
Scripture  reading,  they  found  some  who  were  delighted 
at  this  service,  and  they  were  begged  to  stay  there  with 
them  always.  They  could  do  no  less  than  promise  to 
come  back  or  send  some  one  in  their  place. 

The  first  step  was  to  find  a  Christian  teacher  who 
should  make  her  home  hi  such  a  neglected  community, 
and  through  visiting,  nursing,  and  teaching  carry  a  con- 
crete gospel  to  the  needy.  This  first  movement  was 
developed  into  a  large  day  school,  with  two  or  three 
teachers.  Then  a  workers'  home  was  proposed,  for 
the  sake  both  of  better  preserving  the  health  and  strength 
of  the  workers  and  of  making  a  model  for  better  homes 
and  home  life.  This  Workers'  Home  has  proved  a  model 
for  others,  from  out  of  which  go  forth  Bible  readers, 
evangelists,  nurses,  and  teachers,  who  are  helping  to 
raise  the  standard  of  living  hi  every  practical  way. 

The  Episcopal  Church  has  three  special  missions: 
this,  the  Blue  Ridge  Archdeaconry  in  Virginia,  another 
in  Kentucky,  and  a  third  hi  the  foothills  of  North  Caro- 
lina. In  the  Blue  Ridge  Mission  are  four  homes  for 
workers,  each  of  which  is  the  center  for  several  schools. 
On  the  other  side  of  the  mountains,  hi  Kentucky,  Arch- 
deacon Wentworth  is  in  charge  of  seven  missions  and 
twenty-six  mission  stations  hi  the  mountain  districts, 
besides  eight  missions  and  twenty-two  mission  stations 
in  the  foothills.  There  are  two  schools,  one  at  Beatty- 
ville  and  the  other,  St.  John's  Collegiate  Institute,  at 
Corbin;  but  with  or  without  school  buildings  the  whole 


Redeeming  the  Time  121 

work  is  educational,  in  how  great  and  varied  degrees 
an  extract  from  one  narrative  will  partially  show: 

"Everywhere,  in  each  department,  we  find  more 
response  than  we  hoped  for.  We  were  warned  that  the 
children  would  not  care  for  reading,  but  nowhere  have 
I  seen  more  appreciative  audiences  to  stories  read  or 
told.  Friends  were  kind  to  us  this  year  in  sending  some 
books  and  many  magazines,  and  the  children  were 
delighted  with  our  well-stored  book  press  in  the  kin- 
dergarten rooms.  The  magazines  we  carried  to  the 
outlying  points  were  seized  upon  with  shy  eagerness. 
'The  best  book  a  man  ever  read/  said  one  old  man  to 
me,  'is  this  here  Areny,  and  next  to  hit  is  the  Reeview 
of  Reeviews.'  As  for  our  Proctor  children,  they  spent 
happy  hours  in  the  grassy  yard  while  one  of  us  read 
aloud  stories  from  St.  Nicholas.  The  boys  giggled  glee- 
fully over  'We  Boys7  at  League  meetings.  On  the 
singing  evenings  we  read  aloud  to  quiet  but  interested 
and  responsive  audiences  of  children  and  grown  people, 
'Rab  and  His  Friends/  'Patience  and  Experience/  and 
other  stories  of  high  literary  quality. 

"Before  we  went  up  this  year,  Mr.  Barnes  and  Dr. 
Wood  sent  us  a  well-stored  medicine  chest,  with 
salves  and  ointments,  lotions  for  burns  and  bruises, 
talcum  powder  and  castile  soap.  It  would  have  repaid 
these  friends,  as  it  a  thousand-fold  repaid  the  labors 
of  an  amateur  nurse  with  more  good  will  than  knowl- 
edge, to  see  the  comfort  this  simple  outfit  brought  to 
tormented  babies,  and  cut  and  bruised  small  boys  and 
fever  patients,  to  whom  talcum  powder  was  a  new 
luxury.  Miss  Mahan  wrote  a  month  later:  'It  would  do 
you  good  to  see  the  bare  brown  legs  I  am  watching  in 
the  school  yard,  with  never  a  sore  or  a  scar  hi  sight/ 
For  the  last  week  of  our  stay  Miss  Cook  was  with  us 
and  taught  a  cutting  and  fitting  class,  heroically  finding 
time  and  strength  for  a  course  of  ten  lessons  in  that  short 
time,  and  winning  the  lasting  gratitude  of  mothers, 
whose  problem  is  to  make  one  yard  do  the  work  of  two, 


122  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

and  whose  want  of  training  often  wastes  the  one.     .     .     . 

"On  this  evening  Mrs.  Scott  sang  for  us,  and  next 
day,  early  hi  the  afternoon,  dear  old  Uncle  Frank  Dough- 
erty came  by,  and,  sitting  on  the  step,  he  said:  'Hag 
and  the  girls  tell  me  there's  a  lady  here  that  sings  to  beat 
all  the  sweetness  a  body  ever  heard/  And  so  Mrs. 
Scott,  undiscouraged  by  the  kindergarten  piano,  sang 
some  of  the  ballads  he  loved,  and  the  tears  rained  down 
the  old  man's  cheeks.  'I'm  that  kind  of  an  old  fool/ 
he  said.  'But,  faith,  ef  she'd  kape  it  up  forever,  I'd 
niver  want  to  see  hiven!'  And  then  the  old  Irishman 
added:  Tor  the  mather  o'  that,  I'd  'as  lief  stay  here 
onyway  —  I'm  acquainted  here,  ye  knaw.'  That  morn- 
ing, in  the  blazing  sun,  Miss  Couchman  rode  off  with 
Mr.  Patterson  to  help  a  family  above  Duck  Fork  o'Stur- 
geon,  where  were  five  cases  of  typhoid  fever  hi  a  one- 
room  windowless  cabin,  and  where  a  ten-year-old  girl 
lay  dead.  We  sent  some  flowers  and  white  ribbon, 
and  Miss  Couchman  helped  dress  the  little  maid.  When 
we  were  there  a  year  ago  we  had  grieved  over  a  doll 
tied  up  on  the  wall  —  too  good  to  play  with.  Miss 
Couchman  tells  us  they  put  it  into  the  little  mother's 
arms  at  last  when  she  was  asleep.  .  .  . 

"I  have  no  time  to  tell  you  of  the  mothers'  meeting, 
nor  of  the  League's  work,  nor  even  of  the  final  erection 
of  the  Page  fence,  to  which  the  kindergarten  babies 
begged  to  sing  'Good  Morning,'  to  the  great  joy  of  the 
League  adviser;  nor  of  the  League's  good  use  of  the 
set  of  tools  sent  them  by  Smith,  Watkins,  and  Company; 
nor  of  the  delightful  'play  party'  at  the  home  of  the  four- 
teen-year-old girl  of  whom  I  told  you ;  nor  of  all  the  kind- 
ness shown  us  by  the  people;  of  invitations  to  their 
homes,  a  few  of  which  we  made  tune  to  accept;  of  the 
boat  which  Mr.  Martin  loaned  us,  and  Mr.  Bailey's 
promise  to  help  the  carpentry  class  make  us  a  boat  of 
our  own  next  year;  of  all  the  help  and  courtesy  that 
came  from  'yan  side  of  the  river.'  .  .  . 

"Uncle  Ben  Bigstaff  visited  us  this  year.     The  old 


Redeeming  the  Time  123 

man  is  broken  in  body,  having  spent  himself  in  his 
Master's  service  here  in  the  Kentucky  mountains.  But 
he  fairly  beamed  upon  it  all.  'This  is  the  very  thing  I 
have  prayed  for  and  waited  all  my  life  to  see/  he  said. 
'It  is  like  the  leaven  that  a  woman  took  and  hid  in  three 
measures  of  meal  until  the  whole  was  leavened.  Work 
like  this,  I  tell  you,  just  means  salvation  to  the  Kentucky 
mountains/  But  Uncle  Ben  knows  and  remembers 
always  what  we  Blue-grass  people  seem  often  to  forget 
—  that  if  the  leaven  is  good,  so,  also,  is  the  meal." 

The  Morganton  Associate  Missions  are  in  North 
Carolina,  in  the  foothills  more  than  in  the  mountains. 
They  consist  of  eight  missions,  six  of  them  having  day 
schools,  which  enroll  354  children.  As  elsewhere,  how- 
ever, the  schools  are  only  one  feature  of  the  mission 
work,  the  house-to-house  missionary  going  into  some 
of  the  most  distant  and  difficult  sections  to  bring  the 
light  of  the  gospel  to  those  who  hear  it  in  no  other  way. 

The  Episcopal  Church  has,  besides,  inaugurated  a 
work  for  the  cotton  mill  operatives  in  North  and  South 
Carolina,  Georgia,  and  Alabama,  at  over  thirty  dif- 
ferent mills.  Most  of  this  work  consists  of  Sunday 
schools  and  church  service,  though  in  several  cases  a 
more  or  less  extensive  institutional  work  is  done,  in- 
cluding night  school,  men's  and  women's  clubs,  indus- 
trial classes,  libraries,  gymnasiums,  medical  service, 
and  lectures.  The  cotton  mills  are  mostly  in  the  pied- 
mont, and  their  operatives  come  largely  from  the 
mountains.  The  work  of  the  church,  especially  in  its 
educational  and  economic  features,  is  generally  wel- 
comed and  seconded  by  the  mill  owners. 

In  North  Carolina  is  the  center  of  the  work  conducted 
by  the  Northern  Presbyterians  through  their  Woman's 
Board  of  Home  Missions.  The  Presbyterians  were  the 
first  to  begin  special  work  for  the  mountaineer,  not 
counting  the  abortive  work  of  the  American  Missionary 
Association  before  the  war.  In  1879  they  established 
their  first  mission  school,  in  Concord,  N.  C.  About  the 


124  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

same  time  Rev.  L.  M.  Pease,  a  Presbyterian  clergyman 
in  ill  health,  went  with  his  wife  to  Asheville,  even  then 
famous  as  a  health  resort.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pease  were 
soon  interested  in  the  children  and  young  people  about 
them,  whose  school  advantages  were  of  the  slightest; 
they  opened  a  free  day  school,  for  which  they  enlisted 
the  support  of  their  church. 

This  beginning  in  Asheville  was  the  origin  of  the 
Presbyterian  mission  school  work,  and  of  the  three 
great  schools  now  at  that  place,  which  make  the  center 
of  the  system:  viz.,  the  Home  Industrial  School  (for 
girls)  and  the  Normal  and  Collegiate  Institute,  in  the 
outskirts  of  the  city,  and  the  Farm  School  (for  boys), 
nine  miles  up  the  Swannanoa  River. 

The  Home  Industrial  School  was  opened  in  1887, 
to  be  followed  in  1893-94  by  the  founding  of  the  boys' 
Farm  School  and  the  Normal  and  Collegiate  Institute. 
The  latter  is  the  cap-stone  to  the  Presbyterian  school 
system,  being  chiefly  concerned  in  preparing  teachers 
to  fill  the  great  needs  of  the  mountains.  No  schools 
are  in  greater  esteem  among  the  mountain  people  than 
these;  and  while  then*  influence  is  felt  far  and  wide 
through  the  mountains,  it  is  especially  evident  in  that 
"Land  of  the  Sky"  in  the  midst  of  which  they  are  situ- 
ated. 

To  these  higher  schools  are  related  more  than  fifty 
academies  and  boarding  schools,  scattered  through 
West  Virginia,  Kentucky,  Tennessee,  and  North  Caro- 
lina. There  are,  besides,  a  number  of  mission  stations 
served  by  "Bible  readers/ '  who  establish  in  their  little 
cottages  homes  that  become  models  to  their  communi- 
ties. They  visit  the  sick,  conduct  mothers'  meetings 
and  sewing-circles,  Sunday-schools  and  prayer-meet- 
ings, and  do  a  work  that  tells  for  more  than  that  of  the 
school  bounded  by  four  walls. 

These  schools  and  missions  are  doing  not  a  little 
to  develop  the  native  handicrafts.  A  visit  to  the  depot 
of  the  Allanstand  Industries,  in  Asheville,  where  the 


Redeeming  the  Time  125 

products  of  one  of  their  lines  of  stations  are  marketed, 
gives  a  glimpse  into  the  industries  of  these  mountain 
people  reminiscent  of  the  work  of  our  great-grandfathers. 
Baskets  of  cane  and  hickory  splits,  whitewood,  oak, 
and  willow,  in  unique  and  original  designs;  rugs  and 
coverlets  in  the  colors  of  the  soft  wood  dyes,  and  often- 
times in  beautiful  patterns;  and  hand-made  furniture 
that  defies  the  assaults  of  time;  these  are  among  the 
arts  that  add  an  important  and  genuine  note  to  the 
popular  movement  in  arts  and  crafts.  They  are  the  pro- 
duct of  a  people  who  make  them  from  no  dilettante  in- 
terest in  art,  but  to  supply  their  own  needs  first,  and 
then  to  reach  the  general  public  with  the  surplus. 

"The  Presbyterian  Church,"  says  Dr.  Wilson,  "has 
reached  a  practical  consensus  of  opinion  as  to  what 
is  its  chief  mission  in  the  Southern  mountains.  That 
mission  is  to  educate,  to  provide  Christian  education 
for  the  young.  This  is,  of  course,  recognized  as  an 
exceptional  case. 

"Usually  the  church  looks  upon  itself  as  an  evan- 
gelizing agency.  But  in  the  Appalachians  it  recognizes 
the  fact  that  here  the  most  successful  way  to  contribute 
to  the  coming  of  the  glad  day  when  the  mountains  will 
be  fully  evangelized  is  to  educate  the  young  people  of 
the  mountains.  What  hope  of  building  up  good  Pres- 
byterianism  or  good  Christianity  of  any  type  if  the 
majority  of  the  people  cannot  read,  or  search  the  Scrip- 
tures that  testify  of  Christ?  What  hope  of  founding  a 
substantial  work  so  long  as  no  educated  leaders  exist 
with  desire  for  improvement  and  progress?  It  is  evi- 
dent that  the  Appalachian  worker  must  lay  broad  and 
deep  the  foundation  of  education  and  intelligence 
before  he  can  erect  a  permanent  Christian  church  that 
shall  largely  improve  the  people  for  whose  good  it  is 
consecrated." 

A  work  of  great  value  and  interest  is  that  of  the 
America  Inland  Mission,  or  Society  of  Soul  Winners, 

1  Samuel  T.  Wilson,   The  Southern  Mountaineers,  p.   103. 


126  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

with  headquarters  at  Wilmore,  Ky.  This  society  was 
founded  over  a  quarter  century  ago  by  Rev.  Edward 
O.  Guerrant,  who  compresses  his  forty  years'  experi- 
ence in  the  mountains  into  these  few  words: 

"When  a  young  man,  I  went  to  Virginia,  the  land 
of  my  fathers,  to  join  the  army,  and  rode  more  than  a 
hundred  miles  across  the  Cumberland  Mountains.  Al- 
though not  looking  for  churches  or  preachers,  I  do  not 
remember  seeing  a  single  one.  During  the  war  I  crossed 
those  mountains  several  times,  and  still  found  no  churches. 
I  was  surprised. 

"After  the  war  I  became  a  physician,  and  frequently 
rode  through  those  mountains,  visiting  the  sick,  and 
still  found  only  a  church  or  two  hi  many  miles,  though 
there  were  thousands  of  people  with  souls. 

"When  I  became  a  minister,  I  naturally  remembered 
that  country  where  many  of  my  old  comrades  lived, 
Christless  and  churchless,  and  determined  to  give  them 
what  little  help  I  could." 

This  "little  help"  given  by  the  Society  of  Soul  Win- 
ners, means  this  —  and  more : 

"In  ten  years  362  missionaries  have  labored  exclu- 
sively in  these  wild  mountains.  They  made  51,000 
visits,  held  over  22,000  public  services  at  10,069  places, 
had  6,304  conversions,  taught  879  Bible  Schools  with 
39,456  pupils,  distributed  over  250  boxes  and  barrels 
of  clothing  to  the  poor,  over  10,000  Bibles  and  Testa- 
ments, and  125,000  tracts,  built  56  churches,  schools,  and 
mission  houses,  including  three  colleges  and  an  orphan 
asylum." 

Dr.  Guerrant,  seemingly  as  active  in  the  saddle  as 
when,  fifty  years  ago,  he  rode  with  Morgan's  resist- 
less cavalry,  now  leads  his  hundred  evangelists  in  tire- 
less journeys  over  the  mountains  and  through  glens 
and  coves  from  Kentucky  to  North  Carolina.  His 
"Galax  Gatherers"1  is  a  collection  into  a  book  of  two 


1  The   Galax    Gatherers;   the   Gospel  among   the  Highlanders.     Price 
$1.00.     Published  by  Edward  O.  Guerrant,  Wilmore,  Kentucky. 


Redeeming  the  Time  127 

hundred  pages  of  stirring  messages  rough-hewn  hi  the 
field;  stories  of  great  heights  and  solemn  gorges;  heroic 
girl  teachers  in  the  far  interior;  highland  weddings 
and  cabin  prayer-meetings;  accounts  of  Yancey  apple 
caravans  and  tales  of  Cataloochee  hospitality  where 
"contented  poverty  lives  happily  with  Jesus;"  and 
preaching  services  that  register  audiences  of  from  three 
little  children  to  mammoth  mountain  gatherings  of  three 
hundred  out  hi  the  " first  church"  which  God  built 
—  a  book  that  carries  the  reader  hi  a  rush  of  Christian 
militancy  from  "  Troublesome  River  hi  the  darkest 
Cumber  lands"  to  the  Estatoa  missions  under  the  shadow 
of  mighty  Mount  Mitchell;  fighting  the  Mormons  hi 
Kentucky;  conducting  a  Congregational  service  with  the 
shouts  of  Methodist  people;  closing  the  saloons  with 
the  power  of  a  single  sermon;  baptizing  a  score  at  Pun- 
cheon Camp  and  establishing  schools  hi  "Bloody  Breath- 
itt" — a  book  to  take  the  Christian  reader  by  storm, 
with  its  vigorous  narrative,  beautiful  descriptions,  and 
flashes  of  unexpected  humor. 

When  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  devote  himself 
to  the  mountain  people,  Dr.  Guerrant,  a  Southern 
Presbyterian,  turned  to  his  church  synod  in  Kentucky, 
and  induced  them  to  send  him  as  an  evangelist  into 
the  mountains.  But  soon  the  church  found  the  work 
developing  too  fast,  so  it  thought,  for  its  resources,  and 
asked  their  missionary  not  to  build  so  many  churches  and 
establish  so  many  schools  that  they  could  not  keep  up 
with  the  expenses.  Then  Dr.  Guerrant  stood  up  be- 
fore his  synod  and  said:  "Brethren,  if  you  cannot  afford 
to  pay  for  the  schools  and  the  missionaries  for  the  poor 
highlanders,  God  can  pay  for  them."  And  he  went  out  to 
organize  the  America  Inland  Mission,  for  which  he  made  a 
general  appeal ;  and  "for  fourteen  years  God  has  supported 
this  mission,  which  has  employed  hundreds  of  workers 
and  cost  tens  of  thousands  of  dollars,  with  no  depend- 
ence but  prayer.  In  every  land  he  has  raised  up  friends 
whose  voluntary  gifts  have  supported  the  work." 


128  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

The  Southern  Presbyterian  'Church  finally  took 
back  the  developed  work  under  the  care  of  its  home  mis- 
sion board,  but  it  is  still  conducted  as  a  separate  depart- 
ment, and  "is  auxiliary  to  all  denominational  work, 
and  seeks  only  the  further  extension  of  Christ's  king- 
dom." It  has  one  hundred  three  evangelists,  for  whom 
are  chosen  as  fields  the  most  destitute  mountain  regions 
of  Kentucky,  Tennessee,  North  Carolina,  and  Virginia. 
It  has  seventeen  day  schools,  with  seven  hundred  pu- 
pils, and  four  higher  schools  in  Kentucky  and  North 
Carolina.  Its  Orphans'  Home  hi  Clay  City,  Kentucky, 
is  one  of  its  earliest  enterprises.  This  home  is  ideally 
situated  on  a  thirty-acre  farm,  where  the  children  are 
given  an  industrial  and  liberal  education.  The  prop- 
erty of  the  society  —  its  schools,  mission  houses,  and 
churches  —  is  valued  at  $50,000. 

But  beyond  computation  is  the  value  of  its  most 
precious  property,  the  men  and  women  who  are  con- 
ducting the  work  at  almost  less  than  living  wage;  as, 
for  instance,  the  two  young  men,  graduates  of  a  tech- 
nological school,  who  left  positions  at  four  dollars  a  day 
to  build  with  their  own  hands  and  to  manage  the  new 
Beechwood  Seminary,  at  a  salary  of  twenty-five  dol- 
lars a  month.  So,  too,  beyond  known  value,  are  the 
thousands  of  souls  that  this  dauntless  band  of  mis- 
sionaries are  searching  out  and  teaching  and  inspiring 
in  the  mountains. 

Thus  have  we  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  educational 
and  social  work  of  the  churches  in  the  Southern  moun- 
tains. No  adequate  presentation  is  possible  or  intended 
in  this  short  review.  It  has  only  been  hoped  to  indicate, 
by  a  bit  of  history,  a  bit  of  statistics,  and  a  bit  of  inci- 
dent, the  extent  and  character  of  the  Christian  agencies 
now  engaged  in  an  effort  to  redeem  the  lost  tune  of  the 
past  century.  The  field  is  as  yet  a  virgin  field,  wide 
open  for  workers  who  are  willing  to  give  up  some  of  the 
luxuries  of  the  age  in  exchange  for  the  joy  of  present 
service  and  the  rewarding  glories  of  an  age  to  come. 


o 


.2  «3 

w     ^ 


**       O 

3 1 

•-     u 


X 
COALS  FROM  THE  ALTAR 

ONCE,  long  ago,  a  seer  saw  a  vision  of  the  Lord 
God  Almighty,  high  and  lifted  up  on  his  living 
throne.  About  him  were  his  seraphim,  and  they  sang 
one  to  another,  "Holy,  holy,  holy,  is  the  Lord  of  hosts: 
the  whole  earth  is  full  of  his  glory." 

It  did  not  seem  to  the  prophet,  cowering  there,  that 
the  earth  was  filled  with  God's  glory.  Best  of  earth's 
blood  were  his  people,  the  children  of  a  "  Prince  with 
God";  yet  they  little  revealed  the  glory  of  God.  Proud, 
fierce,  ignorant,  they  darkened  the  land  with  their  crimes 
and  shamed  it  with  their  brutishness.  He  himself, 
who  should  have  been  a  teacher  —  so  ran  his  self-accusa- 
tion—  had  been  blind  to  his  people's  needs  and  in- 
excusably selfish.  So  he  cried,  "Woe  is  me!  for  I  am 
undone;  b'ecause  I  am  a  man  of  unclean  lips,  and  I 
dwell  in  the  midst  of  a  people  of  unclean  lips:  for  mine 
eyes  have  seen  the  King,  the  Lord  of  hosts." 

Then  flew  one  of  the  seraphim  to  him,  with  a  live 
coal  in  his  hand,  taken  from  off  the  altar.  He  laid  it 
upon  his  mouth,  and  said,  "Lo,  this  hath  touched  thy 
lips;  and  thine  iniquity  is  taken  away,  and  thy  sin 
purged." 

Immediately  came  the  voice  of  God,  saying,  "Whom 
shall  I  send?  and  who  will  go  for  us?"  Then  the  seer, 
fired  with  zeal  and  power  by  that  coal  from  the  altar, 
9  (129) 


130  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

and  seeing  as  the  seraphim  a  vision  of  a  new  earth  filled 
with  the  glory  of  God,  said:  "Here  am  I;  send  me." 
So  was  born  the  prophet  of  the  Messiah. 

Here,  now,  is  a  story  of  two,  a  woman  and  a  man, 
called  of  God  to  spread  the  glory  of  his  presence  in  the 
hearts  and  the  homes  of  another  chosen  people.  Widely 
separated  were  these  two,  in  place,  in  fortune,  in  sta- 
tion; yet  so  similar  in  purpose  and  resolution  that  then- 
common  mission  shows  a  common  origin:  the  vision 
of  God's  glory  and  the  kindling  of  their  zeal  by  that  coal 
from  off  his  altar.  The  one  was  the  daughter  of  a  south- 
ern aristocrat,  with  the  heritage  of  culture  and  wealth; 
the  other  was  the  son  of  a  mountain  preacher,  with  no 
legacy  but  an  abounding  faith.  But  they  were  alike, 
when  each  had  seen  his  vision,  in  crying,  "Here  am  I; 
send  me."  In  what  they  have  seen,  and  sought,  and 
done  for  the  mountaineer,  they  may  stand  as  repre- 
sentatives of  the  forces  from  within  the  mountains  that 
are  being  divinely  aroused  to  teach  and  lead  their  peo- 
ple. 

Down  in  the  hills  of  northern  Georgia,  just  where 
the  Blue  Ridge  and  the  Cumberlands  halt  their  inva- 
sion of  the  plains,  lies  the  thriving  little  city  of  Rome. 
Two  miles  north,  on  a  green-swarded,  shady  hill,  is  the 
proud  old  ancestral  home  of  the  Berrys.  The  big  oak 
grove  that  surrounds  it  serves  scarcely  to  hide,  down  in 
one  corner,  a  little,  low,  mud-daubed  log  cabin,  with  a 
stick  chimney  wide  enough  to  swallow  any  Saint  Nicho- 
las. And  many  a  time  it  did  swallow  one  of  the  little 
Berrys  who  had  forgotten  the  key  to  the  door  of  their 
play-house,  where  candy-pulls  and  corn-poppings  and 
chestnut-roastings  marked  many  a  holiday. 

The  children  of  the  Berry  household  grew  up  in  time; 
but  for  one  of  them  the  little  cabin  held  all  too  hallowed 
memories  to  permit  its  being  neglected  or  forgotten. 
Martha  Berry  chose  it  for  her  "den,"  and  with  coon 
skins  and  bear  skins  and  plunder  of  field  and  wood  she 
made  it  a  lodge  to  match  the  legend  over  the  fireplace, 


Coals  from  the  Altar  131 

"Kyndle  Friendship. "  The  rafters  above  were  hidden 
behind  festoons  of  peppers  and  popcorn  ears,  and  out- 
side, by  the  door,  hung  the  cedar  water-pail  alongside 
the  gourd  dipper.  Over  in  one  corner  was  a  little  old 
rosewood  melodeon,  infirm  in  its  legs,  and  with  its  keys 
yellow  from  age.  Here  Martha  Berry  spent  many  and 
many  a  quiet  hour  with  her  'books  and  the  wild  things 
of  the  woods  that  visited  her. 

One  balmy  Sunday  afternoon  in  April  three  other 
little  wild  things  crept  up  to  the  cabin,  and  through  some 
unchinked  cracks  stood  peering  in  at  this  wondrous 
palace  of  beauty  and  the  lady  that  lived  therein.  Miss 
Berry,  suddenly  conscious  of  the  scrutiny,  looked  up 
from  her  book  to  encounter  the  three  pairs  of  gray-blue 
eyes  so  wonderingly  intent  upon  her  paradise. 

"Come  in,"  she  called  to  them.  But  the  three 
little  barefoot,  ragged  children  shrank  away  in  fear. 
Going  to  the  door,  Miss  Berry  tried  to  talk  with  them, 
but  it  was  only  when  she  held  out  the  temptation  of 
bright-cheeked  apples  that  she  could  persuade  them  to 
cross  the  threshold.  Then,  remembering  it  was  Sunday, 
she  began  to  tell  them  Bible  stories.  These  were  all 
new  to  them,  as  she  discovered  when  she  asked  them 
questions. 

"Don't  know,"  they  said,  "don't  know.  Hain't 
never  been  to  no  Sunday  school.  We-uns'  Hardshells." 

Did  they  have  any  brothers  and  sisters?  she  asked. 
Yes,  indeed.  "I  got  about  eight,"  said  one;  and  another, 
"I  got  about  ten." 

They  were  the  children  of  tenant  farmers  near-by, 
men  from  the  mountains  or  of  kin  to  them.  If  Miss 
Berry  like  Joseph  was  seeking  to  prove  these  spies 
as  to  their  families,  the  proof  was  forthcoming.  She 
asked  them  to  return  next  Sunday  and  bring  their 
brothers  and  sisters.  Then  promptly  with  their  depart- 
ture,  her  other  interests  took  back  her  mind,  until  she 
had  nearly  forgotten  her  promise.  The  next  Sunday 
she  was  sitting  with  some  visitors  from  the  city  upon 


132  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

the  gallery  of  the  "big  house,"  when  through  the  woods 
she  saw  a  procession  that  recalled  her  appointment. 
Not  only  children  were  coming,  but  men,  women,  babies, 
and  dogs.  Excusing  herself  from  her  friends,  she  hur- 
ried down  to  meet  the  Sunday  school  delegation  at 
the  little  log  cabin. 

Forming  an  impromptu  program  in  her  mind,  she 
said,  "First  we'll  sing  something."  The  wheezy  little 
melodeon,  upheld  on  all  sides  by  eager  children,  did 
its  best,  a  wondrous  best,  as  they  sang  to  Miss  Berry's 
"lining  out,"  "I'm  so  glad  that  Jesus  loves  me."  And 
then  she  told  them  Bible  stories,  stories  so  new  and  fresh 
to  these  neglected  "Hardshells"  that  not  the  children 
only,  but  the  fathers  and  mothers,  sat  with  rapt  faces, 
while  the  babies  kept  silence,  and  not  even  a  dog  moved 
his  tongue.  For  this  Sunday  school,  mark  you,  was 
the  laying  of  the  corner-stone  of  a  great  temple  of 
service. 

Every  succeeding  Sunday  brought  more  and  more 
and  more  visitors,  some  with  gifts  of  shuck  mats  for 
seats  for  the  growing  audience,  which  promptly  filled 
the  cabin  and  overflowed  into  the  grove.  Miss  Berry 
had  become,  before  she  knew  it,  the  head  and  front  of 
a  weekly  camp-meeting,  an  affair  that  promised  an 
undefined  extension.  How  many  a  lady,  with  such  a 
distinction  thrust  upon  her,  would  not  gracefully  have 
withdrawn  on  about  the  seventh  Sunday?  How  many 
would  not  have  found  the  hot  summer  good  reason  to 
terminate  an  enterprise  that  threatened  leisure  and  for- 
bade society?  But  not  so  Martha  Berry.  A  Voice  had 
called,  "Whom  shall  I  send?  and  who  will  go  for  us?" 
And  out  of  her  leisurely,  sheltered  life  she  came  to  re- 
spond, "Here  am  I;  send  me."  And  then  a  new  glory 
came  upon  life,  the  glory  of  a  revealed  Christ. 

The  Sunday  school  grew.  People  would  come,  rain 
or  shine;  and  soon,  impelled  by  necessity,  Miss  Berry 
invested  one  hundred  dollars  in  lumber,  and  the  men 
and  boys  of  the  Sunday  school  put  up  a  small  school- 


Coals  from  the  Altar  133 

house,  which  soon  added  to  itself  a  little  room  on  the 
front,  then  a  big  room  on  the  back. 

Then  the  Sunday  school  grew  into  a  circuit.  Some 
of  the  members  moved  up  to  Possum  Trot  Creek,  and 
they  sent  word  for  Miss  Berry  to  come  there  and  open 
a  Sunday  school.  So  she  drove  the  eight  miles  to  Possum 
Trot,  and  held  Sunday  school  with  them  in  an  old, 
dilapidated  house  that  had  survived  the  war.  One 
Sunday  it  rained,  and  though  the  superintendent  fled 
from  corner  to  corner,  she  was  soaked  before  the  Sunday 
school  and  the  shower  were  over.  So  she  asked  the  peo- 
ple to  put  on  a  new  roof  before  the  next  Sunday.  But 
that  seemed  to  them  a  most  unreasonable  request. 

"It  mought  not  rain  for  a  whole  month,"  said  one  man. 

"Yes,"  replied  Miss  Berry,  "but  it  mought  rain  next 
Sunday." 

She  pointed  to  an  oak  tree  near-by  which  would  make 
good  "boards,"  and  told  the  men  that  if  they  would 
cut  it  up  and  shingle  the  roof  she  would  bring  the  nails, 
and  treat  the  workers  to  lemonade.  They  came,  and  she 
came,  and,  most  indispensable  of  all,  the  lemonade  came, 
a  most  unaccustomed  beverage,  but  one  highly  appre- 
ciated by  all,  even  by  the  old  man  who  remarked  with 
an  amused  chuckle  that  he  "never  heard  of  a  woman 
a-bossin'  of  a  house-roofin'  before." 

From  Possum  Trot  "the  Sunday  Lady,"  as  the 
countryside  began  affectionately  to  call  her,  was  soon 
extending  her  chain  of  Sunday  schools  in  several  direc- 
tions. Her  sister  and  others  were  enlisted  as  helpers. 
And  soon  mightily  grew  the  Word  of  God. 

But  the  Sunday  school  was  not  enough  to  Martha 
Berry's  new-born  and  abounding  interest  in  these  chil- 
dren. Upon  the  heels  of  every  Sunday  school  she  pushed 
a  day  school.  Where  there  was  none  she  made  one; 
and  where  there  was  a  county  school  she  extended  its 
term,  paying  teachers  from  her  own  purse,  and  making 
herself  a  constant  visitor  and  teacher.  A  new  life  sud- 
denly sprang  into  being  at  the  foot  of  the  mountains. 


134  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

The  immediate  and  surprising  success  of  Miss  Berry's 
schools  invites  inquiry  as  to  its  cause.  Who  does  not 
know  Sunday  schools  that  are  born  with  the  sun  and  die 
with  its  setting?  Who  is  unfamiliar  with  day  schools 
that  would  rather  send  their  teachers  to  Possum  Trot 
than  call  them  from  there?  What  made  Miss  Berry's 
work  a  revivifying  power  in  this  dry  stubble?  It  is  the 
secret  of  the  seer:  Martha  Berry  found  a  life,  not  a 
profession.  Surprised  into  a  Sunday  school,  she  did  not 
organize  an  institution;  she  told  Bible  stories.  When 
needing  a  shelter,  she  did  not  appoint  a  committee;  she 
pointed  out  a  " board"  tree  and  ladled  lemonade.  When 
she  started  a  day  school,  she  did  not  write  a  program  on 
the  blackboard;  she  took  her  children  for  long  walks  in 
the  piney  woods,  naming  the  plants  and  wild  flowers 
and  telling  stories  of  the  birds,  the  insects,  and  the  but- 
terflies. Of  these  things  she  found  her  children  patheti- 
cally ignorant,  and  pathetically  eager  to  learn.  "The 
Sunday  Lady"  entered  into  their  lives,  making  them 
broader  and  more  beautiful  and  more  purposeful.  Who 
would  not  follow  such  a  leader,  even  though  she  be 
"a  woman  a-bossin'  of  a  house-roofin'  "? 

It  was  in  1898  that  Miss  Berry  was  called  from  her 
Sunday  reverie  in  the  little  log  den  to  become  an  apostle 
to  the  mountaineers.  For  the  next  four  years  she  was 
busy  conducting  her  Sunday  schools  and  day  schools. 
Then  she  entered  another  phase.  It  was  as  if  she  had 
been  building  board  shanties  and  patching  leaky  roofs 
so  far:  now  she  would  seize  pick  Wid  spade  and  dig  for 
solid  foundations. 

She  saw  that  the  day  school  was  not  enough.  It 
taught  principles  of  cleanliness,  thrift,  industry,  only 
to  have  them  overturned  when  the  children  went  back 
to  their  cabin  homes.  She  must  have  a  school  home 
where  the  right  ideas  and  habits  might  become  fixed 
by  practise,  and  where  pupils  from  a  distance  might 
come  and  stay  while  attending  school. 

Miss  Berry  tried  to  interest  friends  in  her  project, 


Coals  from  the  Altar  135 

but  in  vain.  Then  —  she  did  not  turn  back;  for  she  had 
committed  herself  before  God  to  this  mission.  She  went 
to  her  iron  deposit  box  and  took  out  an  old  deed;  she 
went  to  her  bank  and  took  out  a  thousand  dollars.  From 
her  father's  gift  to  his  little  girl  she  cut  off  eighty-three 
acres;  she  built  on  it,  besides  the  little  schoolhouse 
already  standing  there,  a  two-story  home  for  the  school; 
and  all  this  she  deeded  to  trustees  as  the  nucleus  of  the 
Berry  School  for  Boys. 

Then  the  mountain  boys  came  in.  They  came  with 
mules  and  ox-teams  and  on  foot,  packing  their  small 
bundles  of  clothing  and  often  a  week's  provisions  of 
hominy  and  potatoes.  Miss  Berry  and  her  first  assist- 
ant, Miss  Brewster,  went  to  live  in  the  boys'  home. 
They  shared  their  rough  shelter  and  their  coarse  food, 
determined  that  they  would  stand  with  their  boys 
and  not  above  them  in  their  effort  to  help.  They  showed 
them  by  precept  and  example  how  to  live  and  learn 
by  doing.  There  were  no  servants;  no  class  but  an  aris- 
tocracy of  labor. 

This  was  satisfactory  enough  to  the  mountain  boy 
within  the  bounds  of  his  code.  He  was  ready  to  plow 
in  the  fields,  chop  in  the  woods,  hammer  on  the  house; 
he  was  not  wholly  off  his  ground  in  milking  the  cows, 
cooking  his  food,  and  making  his  bed;  but  there  were 
some  things  too  undisguisedly  woman's  work.  The 
first  Monday  Miss  Berry  summoned  her  young  guard 
of  mountaineers  for  their  first  lesson  in  laundering. 
The  laundry  was  a  wash-tub  out  under  a  tree. 

"Now,  boys,"  said  Miss  Berry,  "we  are  going  to 
wash  clothes.  I  will  show  you  how.  Then  each  boy  is 
to  wash  his  own  garments." 

There  was  silence,  an  electric  silence,  while  the  moun- 
taineer considered.  This  was  indeed  woman's  work, 
nay,  more,  negro's  work.  Science  was  sweet,  but  was 
it  worth  such  degradation?  The  group  fidgeted  for 
a  minute,  and  then  their  spokesman,  a  tall,  strapping 
young  fellow,  said,  "No  ma'am!  I  ain't  never  seen 


136  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

no  man  do  no  washing  an'  what's  more  I  ain't  goin' 
to  do  it." 

Calmly  Miss  Berry  played  her  last  card.  "If  you 
will  not  do  the  washing,"  she  said,  "you  may  watch  me 
while  I  do  it  for  you."  Into  the  tub  went  her  soft  white 
arms.  It  was  her  first  washing  likewise.  Up  and  down 
sloshed  the  clothes  over  the  wash-board,  up  and  down 
bent  the  back  of  the  gentle  washerwoman.  The  boys 
stood  sheepishly  regarding  her.  Finally,  exhausted,  she 
straightened  her  aching  back  and  leaned  in  weariness 
against  the  tub.  The  chivalry  of  the  mountaineer, 
running  in  unaccustomed  channels,  asserted  itself  at 
last.  "I  ain't  never  seen  it  done,"  declared  the  former 
speaker,  "but  I'm  a-goin'  to  wash  them  clothes."  And 
dashing  in,  he  led  his  companions  in  a  charge  to  vic- 
tory. It  was  there  settled  that  the  Berry  School  should 
stand  for  doing  whatever  needed  to  be  done,  that  it 
should  make  men  unafraid  of  any  task  that  life  might 
bring  them.  And  perhaps  just  then  was  born  this  motto 
of  the  school's,  "Be  a  lifter,  not  a  leaner." 

Today  there  is  not  only  a  Berry  School  for  Boys, 
but,  three-quarters  of  a  mile  distant,  a  Martha  Berry 
School  for  Girls.  There  are  three  thousand  acres  in  the 
school  estate,  and  more  than  a  score  of  buildings,  all 
erected  by  the  students.  Two  hundred  forty  boys  and 
one  hundred  twenty  girls  are  all  that  as  yet  the  school 
can  admit,  and  for  lack  of  room  many  are  turned  away. 

The  buildings  are  simple  and  in  harmony  with  the 
surroundings  and  the  life  work  of  the  students.  A  home 
life  and  atmosphere  is  maintained  in  the  school,  the 
teachers  living  with  their  pupils  and  making  them- 
selves in  effect  the  idealized  parents  of  these  children. 
The  Bible  is  a  daily  text-book  in  precept  and  in  life. 
The  industries  that  are  most  characteristic  and  most 
vital  in  the  life  of  the  mountaineer  are  here  taught  in 
developed  form:  the  domestic  arts,  dairying,  weaving, 
basket-making,  carpentry,  agriculture,  mechanics.  And 
the  mountains  are  feeling  deeply  the  impulse.  Scores 


Coals  from  the  Altar  137 

of  Berry  graduates  are  at  work  in  the  mountains  and 
the  piedmont,  in  schools,  on  farms,  in  shops  and  offices, 
molding  homes  and  communities,  and  helping  to  de- 
velop a  manhood  and  womanhood  that  will  pay  to  the 
world  their  debt  a  hundred  fold. 

The  Berry  estate  belongs  now  to  the  Berry  School; 
Martha  Berry  belongs  to  the  age.  Most  intimately, 
indeed,  is  she  claimed  by  her  boys  and  girls,  and  next 
by  the  men  and  women  of  the  Georgia  mountains;  but 
the  influence  of  her  faith  and  devotion  has  gone,  not 
nation-wide  only,  but  far  out  into  the  foreign  world. 
There  can  be  no  regret  to  Martha  Berry  for  the  interrup- 
tion of  her  reverie  by  those  little  wide-eyed  children  on 
that  long-ago  Sunday  afternoon. 

The  spirit  born  that  April  evening  in  the  little  log 
cabin  has  its  shrine  today  in  the  larger  cabin  built  to 
commemorate  it.  This  idealized  " cabin"  stands  among 
its  dogwoods  and  honeysuckle  and  rose  bushes,  with 
its  latch-string  ever  out.  Here  on  Sunday  afternoons 
gather  the  boys  and  the  girls  as  then:  forerunners  gathered 
years  ago.  They  enter  and  seat  themselves  upon  the 
skins  and  rugs  and  settles  about  Miss  Berry's  chair; 
and  again  are  heard  in  the  gentle  tones  of  "the  Sunday 
Lady"  the  stories  and  the  lessons  of  the  old,  old  Book 
that  has  been  the  inspiration  of  her  life  and  work.  And 
out  of  hundreds  of  hearts  and  minds,  strengthened, 
purified,  equipped,  ennobled,  is  flowing  forth  a  stream 
of  answering  love  to  the  mountains  and  the  world. 
Could  ever  prophet  ask  for  greater  reward  on  earth? 

*  *  *  fl- 

it was  not  long  ago  that  a  sympathetic  visitor  to  the 
Kentucky  mountains  apologized  for  there  being  as  yet, 
he  said,  "no  native  leaders  in  church  or  educational 
work  among  these  people."  He  spoke,  doubtless,  from 
his  own  observation;  but  only  a  few  miles  off  the  track 
he  took,  there  stands  the  monument  of  the  energy,  the 
indomitable  leadership,  of  a  son  of  the  mountains. 
Shortly  after  the  Revolution,  there  came  wandering 


138  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

through  the  wilds  of  southeastern  Kentucky  a  North 
Carolina  pioneer  by  the  name  of  Burns.  Finding  the 
country  well  to  his  liking,  he  stopped  short  of  his  ob- 
jective, Boonesborough  hi  the  Blue-grass,  and  in  this 
mountain  land  he  reared  his  family  and  laid  the  founda- 
tion of  his  clan.  His  great-grandson,  cast  in  the  mold 
of  his  fathers7  Calvinism  and  mantled  with  the  later 
coming  Baptist  faith,  became  a  mountain  preacher. 

The  land  in  which  he  lived  had  become,  as  it  has  re- 
mained to  very  recent  times,  the  stronghold  of  the  clan 
spirit,  the  fighting-ground  of  the  feudist.  As  hi  the  days 
of  Daniel  Boone,  so  still,  it  was  the  frontier,  without 
roads,  without  commerce,  without  schools,  with  law  as 
every  man's  right  arm  and  straight-seeing  eye  could  make 
it.  Preacher  Burns  ranged  up  and  down  through  the 
mountains,  preaching  his  gospel  of  election  and  damna- 
tion to  a  Covenanter  breed  that  made  it  fit  well  with 
their  stern  law  of  might  and  right. 

Three  or  four  years  before  the  Civil  War,  the  father, 
fearing  that  his  sons  would  become  involved  in  the  feuds, 
moved  his  family  over  to  Virginia,  a  land  in  all  respects 
like  his  own  except  for  the  bloody  quarrels  of  men. 
Here  in  the  West  Virginia  mountains  was  born  to  the 
Kentucky  preacher  his  youngest  son,  James  A.  Burns. 

The  boy  grew  up  with  the  education  of  the  wilder- 
ness: rough  living,  scant  learning,  hard  blows,  keen  senses 
alert  for  danger  and  advantage.  Some  of  his  father's 
creed  and  precept  was  woven  into  his  mental  fiber;  but 
as  for  books,  he  had  obtained,  when  he  was  fifteen,  the 
full  extent  of  his  youth's  schooling  —  just  ten  months. 

When  James  Burns  was  twenty-one  years  old,  his 
father  died,  and  the  young  man  very  soon  returned  to 
the  home  of  his  clan,  in  Clay  County,  Kentucky.  Here, 
as  his  father  had  feared,  he  found  the  whole  community 
aflame  with  the  spirit  of  the  feud.  Many  of  his  rela- 
tives had  fallen,  and  the  supreme  purpose  in  the  lives 
of  those  remaining  was  to  avenge  their  deaths.  Burns, 
big-boned,  strong  of  muscle  and  hard  of  fist,  quick  of 


Coals  from  the  Altar  139 

eye  and  unerring  with  rifle  or  pistol,  was  called  upon 
to  play  a  man's  part  among  them,  and  to  the  call  of 
the  clan  he  responded. 

His  party  one  day  made  an  attack  upon  a  home  be- 
longing to  the  rival  faction,  but  when  they  tried  to  rush 
the  place,  they  found  themselves  outfought.  Young  Burns, 
with  empty  rifle  and  at  hand-grips  with  a  foe,  was  hit 
over  the  head  a  mighty  blow  with  a  rifle-barrel,  and  was 
left  for  dead  upon  the  field  by  his  retreating  party. 
His  genial  enemies  dragged  him  by  the  heels  out  of  the 
path  he  obstructed,  and  threw  him  over  the  fence. 

The  next  morning  Burns  awoke  to  find  himself  upon 
a  bed  in  the  very  cabin  he  had  so  unsuccessfully  assaulted. 
During  the  night,  in  his  delirium,  he  had  again  attempted 
to  force  his  way  in,  and  had  been  again  knocked  down. 
But  his  " enemies"  then  kindly  cared  for  him  until  he 
came  to  himself,  and  sent  him  away  in  peace,  explaining, 
in  response  to  his  dazed  inquiries,  that  his  injuries  had 
come  from  his  falling  and  hurting  himself! 

Arriving  at  his  own  home,  John  Burns  betook  him- 
self to  a  densely  wooded  mountain,  where,  like  another 
Saul  of  Tarsus,  he  remained  studying  over  the  revela- 
tion that  had  come  with  his  striking  down.  For  what 
purpose,  he  asked  himself,  had  he  been  brought  to  life 
when  both  friends  and  enemies  had  supposed  him  dead? 
Had  God  a  purpose  in  sparing  his  hitherto  unprofitable 
life?  What  should  he  do  now? 

He  determined  that  he  would  devote  himself  to  the 
work  of  his  God-fearing  father,  but  in  a  new,  a  broader 
way,  a  way  that  he  as  yet  saw  but  dimly,  but  which  he 
believed  would  clear  as  he  should  go  forward.  The  feud, 
he  saw,  was  the  curse  of  the  mountains,  but  back  of 
the  feud  was  its  cause:  the  shut-in  view,  the  uninstructed 
pride,  the  undirected  energy  of  his  fellow  mountaineers. 
Their  glory  they  were  giving  to  the  beast;  their  ideal 
was  force,  their  virtue  brutish.  But  this  they  did  not 
know.  They  were  not  consciously  trouble-makers. 
They  desired  peace;  and  in  a  personal  way  they  held 


140  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

that  moral  code  of  the  nations,  that  to  enforce  a  worthy 
peace  they  must  sometimes  make  war.  As  the  mother 
taught  her  daughter  virtue,  so  she  taught  her  son  honor. 
To  maintain  the  one  was  no  more  a  moral  duty  than  to 
maintain  the  other,  by  force  of  arms  if  necessary.  The 
feudist  bedded  his  code  in  religion. 

But  upon  young  Burns  was  dawning  another  vision, 
the  vision  of  the  glory  of  the  Lord  of  hosts;  and  in  his 
ears  was  sounding  the  challenge,  "Whom  shall  I  send? 
and  who  will  go  for  us?"  And  faintly,  vaguely,  already 
his  lips  were  forming  the  reply:  "Here  am  I;  send  me." 

First  of  .all,  he  saw  he  must  have  more  education. 
With  almost  no  money,  he  made  his  way  to  a  little  Bap- 
tist college  in  Ohio,  where  he  stayed  for  seven  months. 
He  was  an  Elijah  out  of  the  mountains  of  Bashan, 
Pondering  his  vision,  he  moved  among  his  fellow  stu- 
dents moody,  silent,  responding  only  to  the  secret  Voice 
calling  him  to  his  work  in  the  mountains.  Undis- 
covered and  unremembered  in  the  Ohio  school,  he  passed 
back  into  the  life  of  the  wilderness,  and  there  began 
to  feel  his  way  toward  the  fulfilment  of  his  mission. 

In  1892  he  was  back  in  Clay  County,  twenty-seven 
years  old,  with  a  schooling  that  totaled  seventeen  months, 
and  a  fortune  no  greater  than  that  of  the  Man  who  had 
not  where  to  lay  his  head.  But  he  had  come  to  help  his 
people  to  the  broader  vision.  So  he  taught  school  on  Raid- 
er's Creek  and  Crane  Creek  and  Road  Run  and  Red- 
bird  and  Sexton  and  in  Manchester,  the  county-seat. 
When  the  scant  county  funds  gave  out,  Burns  organized 
subscription  schools;  and  with  little  or  nothing  of  ma- 
terial reward,  kept  going  his  campaign  of  Christian  edu- 
cation. As  he  worked  and  as  he  taught,  he  kept  on 
studying.  The  walls  of  a  school  were  to  him  no  exclu- 
sive magazine  of  learning:  he  raided  knowledge  and  drew 
his  supplies  from  books  and  men  and  God  himself.  When 
he  could,  he  went  away  for  a  little  time  to  some  school 
where  he  could  be  instructed  better  than  he  could  in- 
struct himself. 


Coals  from  the  Altar  141 

Thus  in  1898-99  he  was  in  Berea  College,  and  there 
came  to  him  the  climax  of  his  vision:  he  must  start  a 
college  in  the  heart  of  his  own  land.  To  a  kindred  spirit 
in  Berea,  Rev.  H.  L.  MacMurray,  he  confided  his  de- 
termination, and  these  two  men  united  to  carry  it  out. 
Without  a  dollar,  but  with  a  sublime  faith  that  counted 
the  moving  of  mountains  only  the  matter  of  germina- 
ting a  mustard  seed,  they  went  up  to  Clay  County. 

On  the  banks  of  Crane  Creek  stands  an  old  mill  that 
in  those  days  afforded  the  largest  meeting-room  in  the 
valley.  To  that  mill  building,  in  the  late  days  of  1899, 
J.  A.  Burns  called  together  the  clans,  the  Burnses  and 
the  Aliens,  the  Combs  and  the  Hensleys,  men  who  had 
never  faced  one  another  but  warily  and  with  fingers 
ready  to  grip  the  pistol  butt.  They  were  called  here 
for  a  new,  a  strange  purpose,  called  by  one  of  their  own 
number  who  had  been  a  feudist,  but  who  was  now 
known  and  respected  for  a  new  sort  of  power,  a  force- 
ful preacher  and  an  earnest  teacher.  Some  general 
knowledge  of  his  purpose  they  had,  but  what  mixed 
purposes  they  themselves  had,  one  and  another,  they 
could  not  tell,  and  every  man  of  them  came  armed. 

Watchful  and  alert,  the  factions  ranged  themselves 
on  opposite  sides  of  the  mill  room,  and  Burns  stood  up 
by  the  old  wooden  hopper  and  addressed  them.  The 
time,  he  said,  had  come  for  a  new  era  in  the  mountains. 
They  had  been  rearing  their  sons  for  slaughter;  should 
they  not  turn  them  now  to  salvation?  Should  men 
who  had  heard  the  gospel  of  Jesus  Christ  continue  to 
waylay  one  another  like  red  Indians?  There  was  a 
higher  call  for  men  made  in  the  image  of  God.  There 
was  a  call  from  God  to  spread  the  glory  of  the  knowledge 
of  the  Lord  through  all  these  mountains.  The  time  was 
come,  and  the  means  must  be  made.  A  Christian  edu- 
cation was  demanded  of  them  to  prepare  for  their  mis- 
sion. Their  children  should  be  messengers  of  heaven 
instead  of  agents  of  hell.  A  college  for  Christian  train- 
ing was  needed  in  their  midst,  and  that  college  he  was 


142  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

going  to  build.  He  had  not  a  dollar,  he  told  them, 
but  by  God's  grace  he  was  going  to  start  that  college. 
Did  they  want  to  help? 

"It  was  a  mighty  quiet  meeting/'  says  Burns.  "I 
didn't  know  what  they  were  going  to  do.  But  I  was  right 
glad  when  Lee  Combs  got  up,  and  when  Dan  Burns 
got  up  too,  and  they  met  in  front  of  me.  They  did  not 
draw,  but  they  shook  hands.  Then  I  knew  that  Oneida 
College  was  going  to  be  a  success."  With  the  hand- 
clasp of  those  two  men,  the  doom  of  the  feud  hi  Clay 
County  was  declared. 

Then  Burns  and  MacMurray  set  to  work.  Henry 
Hensley  gave  them  fifty  dollars.  Another  gave  them  a 
little  tract  of  twelve  acres  of  land.  This  was  at  Oneida, 
where  Redbird,  Bullskin,  and  Goose  creeks  unite  to  form 
the  south  fork  of  the  Kentucky  River.  With  tools  fash- 
ioned from  two  old  crowbars,  Burns  quarried  the  stones 
for  the  foundation  of  his  first  building.  It  was  at  dawn 
one  morning  when  he  set  that  first  stone  in  place  for  the 
wall  of  Oneida  College.  Carefully  and  firmly  he  set  it, 
in  the  wish  that  it  might  stand  long.  And  then  — 
simple  ceremony  to  his  first  corner-stone  laying  —  all 
alone  on  the  hillside  he  stretched  his  arms  toward  heaven 
and  prayed  for  the  souls  of  the  men  of  his  mount ains. 

As  his  prayer  went  up,  there  came  an  answering 
challenge:  over  the  hill  beyond  a  young  feudist,  drunk 
with  the  fury  of  a  fight  just  closed,  came  riding  against 
the  sun,  and  its  streaming  light  he  greeted  with  a  volley 
of  pistol  shots.  The  new  and  the  old  joined  battle  that 
morning  on  the  Oneida  hills,  a  battle  of  principles,  not 
of  powder.  Three  years  later  that  same  young  feudist 
stepped  into  the  water  to  be  baptized  by  Burns,  and  his 
surrender  was  typical  of  the  victory  won  by  this  prophet 
and  his  divine  message  to  the  mountains. 

But  it  was  not  with  ease  that  the  new  school  grew. 
MacMurray  Hall  rose  at  first  under  the  unaided  hands 
of  the  teacher,  then  with  the  tardy  help  of  some  half- 
hearted friends  —  a  plain,  small  building  of  two  stories, 


Coals  from  the  Altar  143 

great  only  to  spiritual  eyes  that  look  as  God  looks  upon 
the  heart  of  things. 

Then  the  pupils  came,  plenty  of  them,  bringing  their 
provisions  in  sacks  and  baskets,  with  now  and  then  a 
few  dollars  meagerly  earned  but  willingly  expended  in 
laying  the  foundation  of  power  in  their  souls.  Food  and 
other  needs  were  knotty  problems  to  the  teachers.  Night 
after  night,  early  in  the  history  of  the  school,  Burns  and 
a  fellow-teacher  sat  out  by  a  great  flat  rock  that  juts 
into  the  river,  sat  by  a  fire  while  they  mastered  the  next 
day's  lessons  hi  studies  where  some  of  their  students 
were  pushing  them  hard,  sat  there  poring  over  then* 
books  while  their  trot-lines  led  off  from  the  rock  to  catch 
the  catfish  for  their  breakfast.  Catfish  and  corn  —  and 
mostly  catfish  —  helped  to  lay  the  early  foundations 
of  Oneida  College. 

The  needs  pressed.  From  far  away  the  young  men 
of  the  mountains  came  down  to  this  center  of  new  civi- 
lization. The  first  little  building  was  overcrowded  at 
once.  At  the  close  of  the  year  their  current  expenses 
had  put  them  in  debt  two  hundred  dollars.  Burns  went 
down  into  "The  Settlements,"  to  try  to  raise  the  money. 
But  he  found  times  hard,  the  churches  pressed  by  the 
Mission  Board  to  make  up  the  foreign  budget,  and  a 
general  disbelief  prevailing  on  the  part  of  officials  in  the 
missionary  character  of  a  school  in  the  home  land.  Not 
a  hearing  could  he  get  in  a  single  church,  and  at  last  he 
turned  his  steps  homeward,  discouraged  but  not  de- 
spairing, for  he  believed  in  the  God  of  Elijah. 

At  Winchester  he  found  a  man  whose  pastor  he  had 
been  in  Clay  County,  a  "feud  leader"  who  had  moved 
away  from  the  troubled  zone  to  save  his  children.  This 
man  called  upon  his  pastor  to  help,  but  the  pastor  said 
they  were  sorely  pressed  to  raise  money  for  missions, 
and  the  best  he  could  do  was  to  give  the  pulpit  to  Mr. 
Burns  and  let  him  state  his  needs  at  the  close  of  the  ser- 
mon. Thus  Burns  faced  his  first  Blue-grass  audience, 
and  taking  the  text,  "The  weapons  of  our  warfare  are 


144  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

not  carnal,  but  mighty  through  God  to  the  pulling  down 
of  strongholds,"  preached  more  for  himself  than  for 
his  congregation.  Afterwards  he  told  what  they  were 
trying  to  do  at  Oneida,  and  of  their  needs,  whereupon  a 
deacon  arose  and  said,  "I  believe  we  ought  to  help  this 
cause,  and  I  will  start  the  contribution  with  fifty  dol- 
lars." At  the  close  of  the  service,  the  pastor,  rejoicing, 
brought  him  a  gift  from  his  people  of  a  little  more  than 
the  amount  needed. 

Soon  after  this  Dr.  and  Mrs.  J.  B.  Marvin,  of  Louis- 
ville, heard  of  his  work,  and  gave  him  five  thousand 
dollars,  which  built  the  ten-thousand-dollar  hall  that 
makes  the  center  of  Oneida.  The  mountaineers,  con- 
verted now  and  sharing  his  vision,  gave  what  they  could 
of  tune  and  strength  and  little  offerings.  They  gave, 
too,  then-  sons  and  their  daughters,  but  at  first  only 
their  sons  could  be  received. 

One  day,  down  the  valley  of  Bullskin  Creek  came  an 
old  man  with  two  mules  and  three  grown  daughters 
mounted  thereon.  They  forded  the  river  and  presented 
themselves  before  Burns,  an  offering  of  the  woman- 
hood of  the  mountains  to  his  mission,  the  mission  of 
God.  But  there  was  no  place  for  them,  and  no  money 
to  make  a  place.  With  tears  in  his  eyes,  Burns  said  to 
them,  "I  can't  take  you.  I  have  got  nothing  to  feed  you, 
and  there  is  no  place  where  you  can  sleep."  Answering 
tears  streamed  down  the  faces  of  the  girls  and  of  the 
old  man,  then1  father.  Silently,  with  the  sadness  of  the 
mountains'  ages  upon  then1  faces  and  forms,  they  turned 
back  upon  their  mules,  up  Bullskin  Valley,  to  the  fate 
from  which  they  had  fled. 

Said  Burns,  "That  must  not  be.  We  must  have  a 
home  for  girls.  Our  women  must  not  lag  behind  our 
men  if  the  mountains  are  to  be  reclaimed."  Mr.  R. 
Carnahan,  of  Louisville,  who  had  become  their  treasurer, 
encouraged  him  in  his  plans  to  make  such  a  home,  prom- 
ising to  help  all  he  could  in  meeting  the  bills.  Burns 
started  out  again  to  raise  money  in  the  churches,  but 


Coals  from  the  Altar  145 

his  experience  was  a  repetition  of  the  early  part  of  his 
former  effort.  Returning  to  Oneida,  with  money  no- 
where in  sight,  he  had  to  acquiesce  in  the  decision  of 
his  fellows  to  stop  work  on  the  building.  Then  the 
president  of  a  building  and  loan  association  stepped  for- 
ward with  an  offer  of  a  loan  which  sent  the  building  to 
completion,  and  opened  a  way  for  the  girls  of  the  moun- 
tains. Today  Oneida  College  for  men  and  women  opens 
its  doors  to  five  hundred  students  each  year. 

It  feels  its  mission  only  begun,  and  but  little  developed. 
Not  books  only,  but  applied  knowledge,  Burns  and  his 
coworkers  seek  to  teach  their  people.  A  thirteen-hun- 
dred-acre  farm  is  the  broad  foundation  upon  which  the 
industries  have  begun  to  be  built,  and  Burns  and  his 
fellows  dream  —  with  hands  weaving  a  fabric  out  of 
the  dream  —  of  industries  made  from  the  ancient  arts 
of  the  mountain  home  and  shop,  industries  that  shall 
keep  the  individuality  and  the  beauty  of  the  mountains 
with  their  creators,  and  for  the  blessing  of  the  nation 
as  well. 

The  hand  of  Oneida  is  reaching  out  farther  into  the 
mountains,  up  the  creeks,  through  the  narrow  valleys, 
upon  the  mountainsides.  One  branch  school  has  been 
established,  and  others  are  being  planted.  Along  with 
the  older  agencies,  Oneida  is  doing  its  part  in  teaching 
and  preparing  the  mountains  for  their  wider  destiny. 
To  it  belongs  the  peculiar  power  of  self-uplift;  for  the 
blood  of  its  teachers  and  its  trained  workers  who  are 
going  out  into  the  mountains  by  the  score,  is  the  blood 
of  the  clan,  the  people  for  whom  it  is  giving  its  all. 

To  this  dreamer  of  dreams,  this  seer  of  visions,  this 
man  of  faith  and  revealer  of  forces  that  were  hidden  in 
the  providences  of  God,  has  come  the  reward  of  seeing 
his  people  put  their  feet  upon  the  first  steps  of  the  ladder 
on  which  angels  are  ascending  and  descending,  and 
where  at  the  summit  is  God. 

#  *  *  * 

No  reposeful  life  are  these  schools  or  their  founders 
10 


146 


The  Men  of  the  Mountains 


spending  now.  The  struggle  for  maintenance,  for  greater 
facilities  to  meet  growing  demands,  for  means  to  spread 
their  influence  in  extension  work  far  back  into  the  moun- 
tains, press  more  and  more  heavily  upon  the  shoulders 
that  are  bearing  these  weights.  Time  and  talents  and 
strength  that  might  seem  too  precious  to  spend  outside 
the  weaving  of  the  fabric,  are  spent  to  exhaustion  in 
the  work  outside,  praying  for  the  warp  upon  which  the 
school  loom  is  weaving  its  marvelous  patterns  from  the 
souls  of  the  mountains.  But  the  Lord  that  called  the 
messengers,  the  God  that  gave  the  message,  he  it  is  that 
made  the  quest;  and  it  must  be  that  in  the  tapestry  he 
has  planned,  he  would  have  thus  revealed  the  subtle, 
seamless  union  of  lowland  and  highland,  rich  and  poor, 
the  thank-offering  of  them  that  can  give  and  the  more 
abounding  love  of  them  that  have  received  much. 


xrf 


"The  school  should  be  permeated  with  the  re- 
ligion of  Jesus  Christ.  The  mountain  people  are 
naturally  religious ;  they  love  the  service  of  the 
church.  No  subject  is  more  attractive  to  them 
than  the  Bible.  Nothing  will  do  more  for  them 
than  the  pure  gospel.  And  there  is  no  better  way 
of  bringing  them  under  its  influence  than  through 
a  school  that  is  founded  and  conducted  on  the 
eternal  principles  of  God's  Word."  EDGAR  TUFTS. 


XI 

A  SCHOOL  OF  SIMPLICITY. 

HPEN  miles  above  Nashville  the  yellow  flood  of  the 
I  Cumberland  curves  itself  into  a  bottle  form  known 
as  Neeley's  Bend.  Across  the  narrow  neck  of  this  bottle, 
touching  the  river  on  either  side,  lies  an  ancient  estate, 
a  part  of  the  original  grant  to  the  Neeley  family  after 
whom  "the  bend'7  was  named.  The  blue-grass  and 
limestone  of  its  upland  furnished  pasture  for  the  cattle 
and  intermittent  labor  for  the  slaves,  as  testify  the  long 
lines  of  solid  stone  fence  yet  standing.  The  bottom  lands 
along  the  river  were  magazines  of  fertility  that  bore 
long  and  patiently  the  drain  of  a  corn  and  wheat  mon- 
otony; while,  rounding  the  angles  and  taking  posses- 
sion of  the  shaly  spots,  buckbrush  and  oak  fought  with 
the  blue-grass  that  claimed  proprietary  interest  hi  the 
limestone  soil. 

Far  back  in  the  estate,  behind  its  locust  avenue 
and  surrounded  by  a  massive  limestone  wall,  stood  the 
old  farm  house.  Its  cedar  log  walls,  piled  up  in  early 
days,  had  later  received  the  garnish  of  clapboard  and 
paint,  until  nothing  bespoke  its  age  as  well  as  the  massive 
stone  chimneys  at  either  end,  whose  hewn  and  squared 
blocks  have  darkened  under  the  storms  of  more  than 
half  a  century. 

To  this  estate,  in  the  summer  of  1904,  came  a  little 
company  of  teachers  and  students  to  begin  a  training 

d49) 


150  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

school  for  Christian  workers  among  the  mountaineers. 
Whatever  the  fame  of  the  Nelson  Place  in  ante-bellum 
days,  they  found  its  splendor  faded.  The  rich  but  shallow 
soil  of  the  upland  had  washed  until  in  many  places  only 
bare  rock  greeted  the  sun.  Weeds  and  briers  were  over- 
running the  pastures;  the  clay  of  the  benchland  was 
baked  and  hard;  and  only  the  river  bottoms  still 
upheld  the  old  dynastic  pride.  Buildings  were  in  dis- 
repair; and  the  old  tip-hatted  log  barn,  sitting  among 
its  pig-styes  by  the  wide  stone  gate,  and  shaking  its 
leery  finger  at  every  passer-by,  seemed  typical  of  the 
state  of  dissipation  at  which  the  place  had  arrived. 

It  was  not  the  first  choice  of  the  company  of  educa- 
tors who  had  come  to  establish  the  school.  The  pre- 
vious May,  Doctors  Sutherland  and  Magan,  who  had 
long  been  interested  in  the  educational  problems  of 
the  South,  were  prospecting  for  a  location.  With  them 
were  their  friends,  Elder  J.  E.  White,  president  of  the 
Southern  Missionary  Society,  and  for  many  years  a 
director  of  work  among  the  colored  people  of  the  South; 
his  brother,  Elder  W.  C.  White;  and  their  aged  and 
revered  mother,  Mrs.  Ellen  G.  White. 

Mrs.  White  had  been  from  early  life  an  earnest 
worker  in  the  ranks  of  reformers.  As  a  temperance  lec- 
turer she  had  labored  throughout  America,  and  in  Europe 
and  Australia,  and  was  widely  known  as  a  speaker  upon 
religious  and  moral  topics.  Her  writings  in  a  score  of 
languages  were  sown  throughout  the  world.  She  had 
been  one  of  the  founders  of  the  Seventh-day  Adventist 
Church,  and  during  the  sixty  years  of  its  existence 
her  teachings  had  been  most  influential  in  the  spread 
of  the  religious,  the  medical,  and  the  educational  work 
of  that  small  but  active  people.  The  principles  of  physi- 
cal, mental,  and  spiritual  health  and  power  which  she 
and  her  colaborers  advocated,  had  been  formulated 
into  a  system  of  education  whose  aim  was  the  highest 
perfection  of  the  workers'  physical  and  mental  powers 
for  the  service  of  their  fellow-men. 


A  School  of  Simplicity  151 

Her  interest  in  the  problems  of  the  South  had  been 
long  and  deep,  and  her  presence  and  counsel  were  highly 
prized  by  those  who  were  launching  this  new  enterprise. 
Their  plans,  indeed,  were  much  too  modest  for  Mrs. 
White  to  endorse.  Influenced  partly  by  the  smallness  of 
then*  resources,  they  intended  to  go  back  into  the 
mountains,  buy  a  small  place,  and  give  their  attention  for  a 
while  at  least  to  the  local  needs.  But  Mrs.  White  de- 
clared that  then-  experience  in  training  teachers  and  other 
Christian  workers  should  not  thus  be  buried  in  a  napkin, 
and  that  they  would  do  well  to  locate  near  to  Nashville, 
in  contact  with  the  important  educational  interests  cen- 
tering there,  and  in  touch  not  only  with  the  mountains 
but  with  other  rural  sections  of  the  South.  She  had  seen 
the  Nelson  Place,  and  felt  it  to  be  favorable  in  loca- 
tion and  character  for  their  work.  To  their  objection  that 
they  had  not  enough  money  even  for  the  purchase  price, 
to  say  nothing  of  development,  she  replied,  "Have  faith 
in  God.  The  Lord  has  led  you  through  some  hard  places, 
and  given  you  deep  experiences,  and  if  you  will  trust 
him,  he  will  give  you  more.  You  will  get  the  money, 
and  I  will  help  you."  To  the  objection  that  the  land  was 
poor  and  rocky  and  the  fertility  of  the  soil  depleted, 
Mrs.  White  inquired:  "Brethren,  whom  have  you  come 
here  to  help?"  The  answer  was,  "These  poor  people  in 
the  hills." 

"And  do  you  think  it  becoming  for  you  to  have  the 
best  piece  of  land  in  the  State  to  train  yourselves  to  help 
these  people  with  very  poor  land  in  the  hills?" 

The  argument  closed,  and  the  place  was  bought. 
It  lies  ten  miles  north  of  Nashville  and  two  and  a  half 
miles  east  from  the  little  station  of  Madison. 

Four  teachers  long  associated  together  in  school  work, 
were  the  founders  of  the  Nashville  Agricultural  and 
Normal  Institute,  or,  as  it  is  more  popularly  known, 
the  Madison  School.  They  were  Dr.  E.  A.  Sutherland, 
Dr.  P.  T.  Magan,  Miss  M.  Bessie  DeGraw,  and  Mrs. 
N.  H.  Druillard.  With  them,  by  twos  and  threes  through- 


152  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

out  the  summer,  came  eleven  students  from  Emmanuel 
Missionary  College  in  Michigan,  some  of  whom  were 
to  act  as  instructors.  The  first  to  occupy  the  place  was 
Mr.  E.  E.  Brink,  with  two  students.  Mr.  Brink  had 
been  an  instructor  in  industries  at  Emmanuel  College; 
and  at  the  Madison  School  not  only  was  he  the  pioneer, 
but  he  has  remained  as  a  valued  teacher  and  worker  in 
the  industries. 

Teachers  and  students  alike,  they  came  with  no 
temptation  of  money  or  other  worldly  advantage.  They 
were  to  have  what  they  could  make;  and  living  depended 
upon  their  making  it.  The  dean  gathered  up  the  reins 
of  the  mule  team.  The  lady  secretary,  in  a  one-mule 
cart,  drove  once  a  week  to  town  with  the  butter  made 
by  the  president  in  the  lean-to  creamery.  The  treasurer, 
a  veteran  in  finance  in  institutions  home  and  foreign, 
laid  her  hand  to  the  skillet  and  the  broom. 

When  Mrs.  Sutherland  came,  with  Baby  Joe  and  some 
lady  students,  the  question  of  lodging  became  acute. 
The  chief  building  was  the  "Old  House,"  but  the  for- 
mer owners  had  not  yet  given  possession,  and  the  next 
best  shelter  was  the  servant  quarters  in  the  carriage 
house,  above  the  horse  stables.  Into  this  went  the 
ladies,  to  be  followed  in  later  years  by  successive  relays 
of  new  students.  The  ability  of  fresh  recruits  to  endure 
these  rough  accommodations  before  receiving  better, 
was  something  of  a  test  of  character;  and  thus  among  the 
students  the  little  old  weather-beaten  barn  came  to  bear 
the  affectionate  title,  "Probation  Hall." 

In  October  the  company  took  possession  of  the  "Old 
House."  The  school  was  a  family;  its  first  classes  were 
morning  and  evening  worship,  followed  by  practical 
studies  of  educational  conditions  in  the  South,  how  to 
make  the  farm  pay,  how  to  bring  the  stock  through  the 
winter,  how  to  get  money  for  furniture,  machinery, 
buildings,  etc.  The  genial,  one-sided  warmth  of  the 
north-room  fireplace  fell  nights  on  the  forum  of  a  young 
democracy,  that  mingled  discussions  of  folk-lore  and 


A  School  of  Simplicity  153 

pedagogy  and  balanced  rations  with  needlework  and 
knitting  and  administration  of  bran  poultices  to  chapped 
hands. 

The  Madison  School  was  born  under  conditions 
that  approximated  those  of  pioneer  days.  Their  tables 
were  of  plank,  their  dressers  of  dry-goods  boxes.  Their 
food  was  largely  restricted  to  what  they  had  found  in 
their  fields  and  the  products  of  their  dairy.  This  con- 
dition of  enforced  economy,  if  not  exactly  the  choice, 
was  at  least  within  the  plans  of  the  founders.  They  knew 
that  to  train  themselves  and  their  students  for  service 
to  the  poor,  there  was  nothing  more  effective  than  pri- 
vation and  sacrifice.  Not  only  in  the  first  days  of  hard- 
ship, but  throughout  its  history  their  school  must  be 
a  school  of  simplicity.  The  body  must  be  accustomed 
to  hard  work  and  simple  diet;  the  reins  of  the  mind  must 
be  girded  up  by  self-control  and  zealous  purpose.  The 
closer  the  living  conditions  at  the  school  approached 
those  to  be  met  when  students  should  have  become 
teachers,  the  more  adaptable  and  efficient  would  those 
teachers  be.  No  steam-heated,  electrically-lighted  build- 
ings, no  intricate  and  expensive  machinery,  no  wealth 
of  imported  foodstuffs,  were  appropriate  for  the  men 
and  women  in  training  for  service  to  the  mountains. 

Vegetarians  by  principle,  they  omitted  from  their 
diet  the  most  costly  food  staple.  While  seeking  to  pro- 
vide from  the  farm  and  garden  and  orchard  a  nourish- 
ing and  sufficiently  varied  diet,  they  denied  themselves 
the  world-wide  variety  in  which  many  families  of  today 
indulge.  It  is  the  idea  of  the  founders  to  keep  the  farm 
machinery  equipment  as  simple  as  possible.  The  stu- 
dent farmer  trudges  in  the  furrow  behind  his  mule  team. 
In  the  laundry,  the  women  rub  out  the  clothes  in  the  hand 
tub.  Few  institutional  facilities  are  introduced,  and 
the  greatest  possible  simplicity  is  maintained  in  all  de- 
partments, that  the  student  may  not  separate  himself 
by  too  great  a  chasm  from  the  conditions  with  which  he 
must  deal  in  his  future  work. 


154  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

Buildings  there  must  be;  for  though  the  "Old  House" 
and  "Probation  Hall"  were  crammed  for  recitation 
and  dining  and  lodging  requirements,  the  second  comers 
promptly  overflowed  into  the  barns.  What  should  be 
the  form  of  the  new  buildings?  Should  they  be  large  and 
expensive  and  equipped  with  all  modern  conveniences? 
If  such  should  be  provided  here,  what  would  be  the 
wishes  and  strivings  of  the  graduates  who  should  later 
go  out  to  establish  their  own  work?  The  management 
of  the  school  from  the  first  adopted  the  principle  of  mak- 
ing every  study,  every  industry,  every  improvement, 
educational  not  in  theory  only  but  in  practise,  and  so 
suited  to  the  needs  of  the  people  to  be  served  as  to  re- 
quire little  modification  when  applied  to  their  conditions. 
The  buildings,  then,  should  be  small,  simple,  and  in- 
expensive, yet  models  of  neatness  and  good  workman- 
ship. As  the  students  with  then1  teachers  should  engage 
in  erecting  these,  they  would  receive  a  practical  elemen- 
tary training  in  the  art  of  building,  a  training  suited  to 
their  afterwork.  This  educational  purpose  was  the  prime 
consideration,  though  there  were  material  advantages  be- 
sides, such  as  lessened  danger  from  fire  and  avoidance 
of  large  investments. 

So  the  cottage  plan  of  housing  students  was  adopted; 
and  the  institution,  instead  of  being  comprised  in  a  few 
large  buildings,  is  composed  of  a  score  of  small,  neat 
cottages  and  a  few  public  buildings  slightly  larger, 
patterns  of  simplicity  for  the  smaller  schools  to  be  oper- 
ated in  the  hills  and  mountains.  The  large  buildings  are 
Kinne  Hall  (the  boarding  department),  Gotzian  Hall 
(the  main  school  building),  and  the  Rural  Sanitarium. 
To  these  is  to  be  added  the  new  hospital,  provided 
through  the  generosity  of  Mrs.  Josephine  Gotzian,  a 
long-time  friend  of  the  school,  designed,  with  its  treat- 
ment rooms  and  wards,  to  minister  to  the  needs  of  sick 
students  and  others  who  may  not  be  able  to  pay  the 
rates  of  the  sanitarium. 

The  Madison  School  has  attempted  the  solution  of 


A  School  of  Simplicity  155 

a  problem  which  most  schools  have  declared  incapable 
of  solution;  that  is,  how  a  school  without  endowment 
may  give  its  students  an  education  without  payment  of 
tuition.  In  other  words,  can  a  student  pay  his  way 
through  school  by  his  labor,  without  the  school's  having 
a  deficit  in  consequence?  When  Hampton  Institute, 
practically  the  pioneer  of  the  modern  industrial  school, 
was  challenged  on  the  grounds  that  "such  an  education 
will  not  pay,"  General  Armstrong  conceded,  "Of  course 
it  cannot  pay  in  a  money  way,  but  it  will  pay  in  a  moral 
way";  and  that  "it  cannot  pay  in  a  money  way"  has 
been  the  concession  of  most  educators  ever  since,  along 
with  the  twin  conclusion  that  because  of  its  educational 
value,  the  industrial  school  should  be  supported  by  the 
public,  through  gifts,  bequests,  appropriations,  and  the 
proceeds  of  endowments.  It  is  of  interest,  therefore, 
to  see  how  the  Madison  School,  without  endowment, 
enables  its  students  and  itself  to  meet  current  expenses 
and  avoid  deficits. 

Strictly  speaking,  the  school  has  an  endowment. 
But  it  is  not  an  endowment  in  the  usual  sense  —  a 
capital  from  the  interest  of  whose  extraneous  invest- 
ments there  is  a  steady  income  of  cash.  Instead,  the 
"endowment"  is  a  working  capital  in  the  form  of  in- 
dustries, which  by  student  labor  are  made  profitable 
enough  to  meet  expenses.  Subscriptions  were  asked 
from  interested  friends  for  the  purpose  of  stocking  the 
farm  and  equipping  it  with  necessary  barns,  stables, 
and  machinery.  It  was  believed  that  these  would  fur- 
nish productive  labor  by  means  of  which  the  student 
could  earn  the  greater  part  of  his  livelihood  while  ob- 
taining his  education.  It  will  also  be  clear  that  such  a 
system  could  only  live  and  succeed  where  there  was  a  spirit 
of  the  utmost  self-denial  and  self-sacrifice  upon  the  part 
of  the  instructors. 

This  theory,  of  course,  is  neither  original  nor  untried. 
But  as  every  industrial  teacher  knows,  student  labor 
is,  on  the  average,  about  the  most  costly  of  all  labor,  and 


156  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

in  the  matter  of  profit  cannot  often  be  reckoned  on  the 
average  labor  basis.  This  is  one  of  the  facts  that  has 
seemingly  proved  the  incapacity  of  the  industrial  school 
to  make  its  expenses. 

The  other  chief  factor  of  this  incapacity  is  that  the 
system  of  literary  education  so  occupies  the  time  of  the 
student  that  he  is  unable  to  devote  enough  hours  to  the 
earning  of  his  expenses.  And  so  long  as  he  is  possessed 
with  the  common  idea  that  he  must  not  be  expected 
to  pay  his  way  while  getting  his  education,  he  will  not 
strive  very  hard  to  do  it.  If,  however,  the  student  can 
be  inspired  with  the  belief  that  normal  life  involves  the 
getting  of  an  education  while  supporting  oneself,  if  the 
curriculum  can  be  so  adjusted  as  to  give  proportionate 
time  and  thought  to  mental,  physical,  and  spiritual  mat- 
ters, and  if  the  student's  energies  can  be  so  controlled 
and  directed  as  to  make  his  labor  profitable,  then  by 
careful  management  the  student  and  the  school  (given 
its  equipment)  can  be  self-supporting. 

Such  a  school,  obviously,  must  depart  from  some 
cherished  ideals  of  the  popular  school.  It  must  lay  em- 
phasis upon  neglected  phases  of  education.  It  must 
exchange  a  scholarly  leisure  for  an  intense  activity  of 
body  as  well  as  mind.  Such  a  school  requires  the  ser- 
vices of  self-sacrificing  teachers  and  students.  Over  all, 
it  requires  for  its  sustenance  an  incentive  so  deep  and 
all-embracing  that  it  shuts  out  all  other  motives  and 
allurements.  Such  an  incentive  is  the  love  of  Christ, 
intensified  by  the  knowledge  of  his  soon  coming  in  power 
and  glory  to  close  the  age-long  controversy  with  sin  and 
Satan.  To  the  heralding  of  that  coming  are  these 
workers  pledged.  Not  to  that  alone,  but  to  the  sound- 
ing of  the  last  notes  of  the  gospel  of  free  salvation 
through  Christ.  And  not  to  that  alone,  but  to  the 
revelation  of  Jesus  Christ  in  his  servants  today,  through 
ministry  to  the  sick,  the  needy,  the  ignorant,  and  the 
sorrow-bowed.  For  the  further  development  of  this 
work  was  the  Madison  School  established, 


A  School  of  Simplicity  157 

Its  plan  of  government  is  framed  to  that  end.  Stu- 
dents and  teachers  are  placed  upon  the  common  basis 
of  Christian  fellowship.  The  laws  of  the  school  are  made 
and  executed  by  the  whole  school,  in  session  known  as 
the  Union  Body.  This  Union  Body  relieves  the  faculty  of 
much  of  the  routine  of  government.  The  school  family 
is  subject  to  self-imposed  laws,  and  by  a  system  of  checks 
and  reports  each  member  is  held  to  rectitude,  first  by 
his  own  will,  and  second  by  pressure  of  the  Union  Body. 
This  discipline  covers  every  act  of  the  school  life:  study, 
work,  physical  habits,  social  life,  religious  duties,  mis- 
sionary effort,  and  all  the  ways  in  which  the  individual 
life  is  related  to  the  community. 

But  the  Union  Body  has  a  far  wider  field  than  dis- 
cipline. Through  its  committees,  it  controls  all  depart- 
ments of  labor,  plans  for  their  operation,  improvement, 
and  extension,  subject  only  in  matters  involving  ex- 
penditure to  the  executive  board. 

The  daily  program  is  full  to  the  limit,  but  simple 
in  its  operation,  rendered  so  by  the  adjustment  made 
between  study  and  labor.  Labor  is  dignified  by  being 
put  on  a  scientific  basis  and  by  being  conducted  by 
teachers  of  mental  and  spiritual  culture.  That  man 
was  created  to  work  and  that  work  is  good  for  man  is 
more  than  a  slogan  in  the  school;  it  is  an  atmosphere 
that  pervades  all  departments. 

In  order  to  maintain  this  atmosphere  it  has  been 
necessary  to  diverge  from  the  program  of  those  schools 
which  give  their  greatest  attention  to  literary  attain- 
ments. Here  each  student  carries  one  major  study, 
spending  three  hours  daily  in  class  work  and  being  al- 
lowed an  equal  time  for  preparation.  During  one  term 
the  student  covers  the  work  for  which  the  entire  school 
year  is  required  when  three  or  more  studies  are  taken 
at  one  time.  He  thus  completes  his  studies  hi  succes- 
sion instead  of  in  combination. 

The  following  are  some  of  the  advantages  of  this 
system  which  have  been  noted,  not  only  by  insjbruc- 


158  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

tors  in  the  institution  but  by  others  of  experience  hi 
school  work  who  have  made  a  comparative  study  of  the 
results.  The  plan  enables  a  teacher  to  carry  one 
class  during  one-half  of  the  day  and  to  spend  the  other 
half-day  in  an  industrial  department.  It  gives  him  op- 
portunity to  develop  the  subject  in  hand,  to  use  the 
library  and  the  laboratory,  to  do  experimental  work,  and 
to  correlate  with  the  major  subject  those  fundamental 
branches  so  often  neglected. 

On  the  part  of  the  student  the  plan  develops  concen- 
tration of  thought,  it  encourages  him  to  delve  beneath 
the  surface  and  to  do  original  research  work,  and  to  pur- 
sue to  completion  one  subject  before  taking  another. 
This  advantage  is  appreciated  by  the  man  or  woman 
who  can  spend  but  a  limited  time  in  school.  The  student 
compacts  his  recitation  work  into  a  period  of  three 
hours  unhampered  by  the  conflicting  requirements  of 
his  fellows'  programs,  and  the  remainder  of  his  day  he 
is  free  to  divide  between  manual  work  and  study.  He 
obtains  both  training  and  practise  in  his  manual  sub- 
jects, to  which  he  is  free  to  devote  five  hours  a  day.  His 
work  with  the  industries  is  made  educational,  and  for 
it  he  receives  both  credit  and  remuneration.  Thus  the 
business  of  getting  a  living  is  taken  from  its  usual  sub- 
ordinate place  in  the  school  and  from  its  usual  superior 
place  in  ordinary  life  to  occupy  its  proper  place  of  co- 
ordination with  intellectual  and  spiritual  activities. 

For  the  institution  this  program  has  its  advantages 
also.  For  while  the  forenoon  is  devoted  to  manual  la- 
bor by  one  group  of  students  and  to  class  work  by  another 
group,  the  groups  reverse  operations  in  the  afternoon, 
and  thus  every  manual  department  is  provided  with  a 
full  corps  of  student  workers  through  the  entire  day. 
At  the  same  time  the  intellectual  work  is  not  slighted. 
This  plan  makes  it  possible  to  keep  the  equipment  of 
all  the  departments  busy  during  the  working  days, 
and  herein  lies  one  reason  for  the  financial  success  of 
the  industrial  departments.  The  student  receives  pay 


A  School  of  Simplicity  159 

for  his  work  at  ten  cents  an  hour.  His  expenses  are  re- 
duced to  the  lowest  point  made  possible  by  large  pur- 
chases and  the  production  of  most  of  the  necessaries  of 
life  on  the  school  farm;  and  the  average  student  is  en- 
abled by  about  six  hours'  labor  a  day  to  meet  his  school 
expenses.  The  student  actually  produces  to  the  ex- 
tent of  his  credit;  the  school  does  not  merely  give  him 
credit  and  then  seek  outside  aid  to  cover  that  credit. 

This  system  of  course  requires  value-producing  in- 
dustries. The  various  departments  of  the  farm  give 
real  productive  work.  For  cash  with  which  to  purchase 
outside  supplies,  the  garden,  the  dairy,  the  live  stock, 
and  the  poultry  have  been  in  turn  or  together  depended 
upon.  The  later  establishment  of  the  Rural  Sanitarium 
(which  is  discussed  in  another  chapter)  has  developed  an 
internal  market  for  the  farm  products,  and  a  source  of 
income  which  has  surpassed  most  of  the  others. 

Thus  the  Madison  School,  by  simple  living,  careful 
planning,  and  a  rational  adjustment  of  the  relations 
of  the  mental  and  the  manual  work,  has  for  a  decade 
continued  to  demonstrate  the  possibility  of  conducting 
a  school  where  students  earn  most  of  then*  school  ex- 
penses, such  as  board  and  lodging,  and  thus  learn  how 
to  make  their  after-life  a  combination  of  work,  study, 
and  service. 


XII 
LEARNING  TO  TEACH 

THE  school  at  Madison  is  a  normal  school  in  every 
sense  of  the  term.  No  part  of  its  life  is  left  unmarked 
as  a  factor  in  the  production  of  teachers.  Madison's 
aim  is  the  training  not  of  mere  teachers  of  abstract 
sciences,  but  of  teachers  of  the  art  of  living.  The  Chris- 
tian teacher  should  have  a  good  grasp  of  scholastic 
branches;  but  more  than  this,  he  must  have  ability  in  the 
practical  things  of  life,  a  deep  consecration  to  the  high- 
est ideals,  and  a  clear  vision  of  the  end  toward  which  he 
is  aiming. 

In  his  daily  life  he  must  be  systematic,  orderly, 
frugal,  industrious,  thorough,  keen  to  see,  and  quick 
to  act.  If  he  misses  these  qualities  in  his  practise,  all 
his  theorizing  will  go  for  little.  In  administrative  af- 
fairs he  must  have  good  judgment  developed  from  ex- 
perience, broad  vision,  quick  and  accurate  decision, 
and  energy.  Over  all  things  else,  he  must  obtain  a  sense 
of  the  value  of  lives,  of  minds,  of  souls,  so  that  he  shall 
not  mistake  material  advantage  for  real  success,  nor 
displace  matters  of  eternal  weight  with  the  light  things 
of  time. 

At  this  school  the  effort  is  made  to  give  the  student, 

not  merely  a  preparation  for  life,  but  an  experience 

in  life  itself.     If  by  experience  in  school  he  learns  how 

to  make  his  living,  how  to  handle  difficulties  of  home 

(160) 


On  Madison  Campus. 

1  The  Madison  School  was  born  under  conditions  approximating  those 
of  pioneer  days."     Page  153. 


Learning  to  Teach  161 

and  farm  and  school  and  church,  how  to  impart  his 
knowledge  to  others,  and  how  to  combine  in  proper 
proportion  all  the  elements  of  life  —  work,  study,  teach- 
ing, recreation  —  if  he  learns  all  this  by  experience,  he 
has  not  merely  subscribed  to  a  doctrine  and  been  la- 
beled with  a  degree;  he  has  had  stamped  upon  him  a 
character,  wrought  within  him  a  course  of  life. 

The  student  at  Madison  works.  There  is  work  in 
the  schoolroom,  work  in  the  field,  work  in  administra- 
tion. The  students  who  come  there  are  expected  to  be 
of  sufficient  maturity,  and  to  be  able  to  find  diversion 
and  recreation  in  the  varied  activities  of  earnest  life. 
The  sports  of  athletics  find  no  place  in  the  school.  The 
usual  rivalry  of  school  life  is  marked  by  its  absence. 
No  college  yells  rend  the  air,  no  class  colors  flaunt  their 
silly  pride,  no  strife  of  teams  and  clubs  and  classes  dis- 
tract the  life.  "Life  is  real,  life  is  earnest, "  is  the  work- 
ing principle. 

But  cheer!  Good  cheer  lives  in  Madison.  Every- 
body is  too  hopeful  to  be  discontented,  too  busy  to  be 
unhappy.  Social  life  in  the  school  is  practically  a  family 
life.  The  students  become  thoroughly  acquainted  as 
they  work  side  by  side  hi  the  field,  nurse  at  the  same 
bedside,  study  from  the  same  text,  plan  together  for 
the  conduct  of  their  common  interests. 

The  evening  chapel  is  the  pulse-beat  of  the  school. 
On  some  evenings  teachers  lead  in  studies  of  principles 
and  purposes  for  which  the  school  stands.  Other  even- 
ings are  hi  charge  of  the  students,  hi  the  study  of  cur- 
rent history,  the  reporting  and  planning  of  an  active 
missionary  propaganda,  and  the  rendering  of  programs 
literary  and  musical,  in  which  their  life  interests  receive 
characteristic  expression.  One  evening  each  week  is 
"Union  Meeting,"  the  administrative  and  legislative 
session  of  the  school. 

Once  or  twice  a  year  a  school  outing  is  planned, 
usually  to  one  of  the  hill  schools  which  have  been  opened 
by  former  students.  The  annual  convention  of  self- 
11 


1 62  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

supporting  workers  brings  together  a  company  that 
resembles  the  old  family  reunions  of  a  New  England 
Thanksgiving,  and  in  this  the  school  students  are  as 
younger  members  of  the  family.  It  is  one  of  the  busy 
holidays  that  typify  the  spirit  of  the  work. 

The  literary  side  of  the  school  is  vigorously  con- 
ducted. Class  work  is  carried  on  during  practically 
the  entire  year.  There  are  four  terms  of  nine  weeks 
each.  Between  each  of  these  comes  a  short  course  of 
three  weeks.  These  "  short  courses  "are  little  marvels 
of  concentration.  For  the  most  part  they  are  devoted 
to  the  consideration  of  industrial  subjects.  Carpentry, 
blacksmithing,  cobbling,  sewing,  box  furniture-making, 
cabinet-making,  cooking,  and  the  giving  of  simple  treat- 
ments are  taught.  On  account  of  the  nature  of  the  work 
the  student  can  profitably  and  without  undue  fatigue 
devote  the  greater  part  of  the  day  to  the  one  line  which 
he  has  selected.  The  results  achieved  in  an  educational 
way  have  been  far  beyond  anything  which  the  manage- 
ment had  dared  to  hope.  It  has  been  demonstrated  that 
by  consolidating  his  time  and  concentrating  his  energy 
on  a  single  branch,  the  student  is  able  in  a  remarkably 
short  period  of  time  to  attain  a  practical  working  knowl- 
edge and  a  creditable  degree  of  efficiency  in  his  subject. 

The  main  departments  of  the  school  are  the  normal 
and  the  medical.  In  either  of  these  are  included  the 
industrial  studies,  which  are  an  essential  part  of  the 
student's  equipment. 

A  close  relation  is  kept  between  all  the  studies  and 
practical  life.  Madison  is  fitting  the  majority  of  its 
students  to  be  Christian  teachers  and  health  workers 
in  rural  communities;  its  natural  science  classes  all  have 
an  agricultural  and  medical  bias,  with  appropriate  text- 
books. It  is  making  of  its  students  educational  re- 
formers; therefore  not  only  its  pedagogical  subjects  but 
all  of  its  history  and  Bible  classes  are  aimed  at  the  study 
of  education's  history  and  philosophy.  It  is  training  its 
students  to  be  ministers  to  the  world's  needs;  and  it 


Learning  to  Teach  163 

maintains  in  every  study  and  every  practise  —  Bible 
and  physiology,  diet  and  dress  —  a  singleness  and  inten- 
sity of  purpose  toward  that  one  object.  At  the  close 
of  each  short  course  an  exhibit  of  the  work  done  by  each 
class  is  displayed  in  the  chapel  and  the  class-rooms. 
The  entire  school  and  frequently  a  number  of  visitors 
come  together  to  see  the  work  which  has  been  accom- 
plished and  to  hear  the  students  tell  their  experiences. 
In  brief  talks  the  members  of  the  carpentry  class  tell 
of  the  things  they  have  learned  and  done;  those  who 
have  enjoyed  the  class  in  simple  treatments  for  the 
sick,  demonstrate  a  nurse's  duties  and  a  patient's  pa- 
tience; those  from  the  bakery  class  reveal  the  secrets 
of  their  gastronomic  successes;  and  the  dressmakers  dis- 
play the  simple  but  neat  and  tasty  garments  of  their 
own  making. 

Two  years  of  work  in  nursing  and  health  principles 
are  given.  A  nurses'  training  class  has  been  a  chief  fea- 
ture of  the  school  curriculum  from  early  days.  Since  the 
building  of  the  sanitarium  in  1907,  the  medical  work 
of  Madison  has  played  a  most  important  part  in  the 
institution.  It  is  not  the  design  of  this  course  to  prepare 
the  student  to  stand  State  Board  examinations  for  nurses' 
registration.  The  work  is  given  rather  with  the  desire 
of  fitting  those  who  take  it  to  be  teachers  of  youth 
in  the  things  pertaining  to  the  care  of  then*  own  bodies. 
This  line  of  study  and  practise  combined  with  the  normal 
courses  given  in  the  school  equips  the  student  to  become 
a  community  teacher  to  a  much  fuller  degree  than  or- 
dinarily. The  idea  is  inculcated  that  a  rural  teacher 
should  be  a  minister  to  sick  bodies  as  well  as  a  teacher 
of  mental  subjects,  that  he  should  be  able  to  instruct 
those  amongst  whom  he  labors  in  the  things  which  per- 
tain to  their  material  comfort,  safety,  and  welfare. 

To  those  who  desire  a  more  thorough  training  in  these 
lines,  a  course  of  another  year's  study  is  offered.  Per- 
sonal hygiene  and  the  science  of  preventive  medicine 
are  the  strong  features  of  this  year's  work,  together  with 


1 64  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

a  thorough  knowledge  of  simple  remedies  for  home  use. 

If  greater  stress  is  laid  upon  any  part  of  the  curricu- 
lum, it  is  upon  those  things  which  relate  to  the  daily  con- 
duct of  life.  Finance  is  made  a  practical  study.  Some 
students  pay  their  expenses  partly  in  cash;  none  are 
allowed  to  do  so  wholly.  The  majority  earn  their  entire 
way  by  labor.  A  cash  deposit  is  required  upon  entrance, 
both  as  a  safeguard  to  the  school  and  as  an  indication 
of  the  student's  ability  to  provide  for  himself.  This 
deposit,  or  any  part  remaining  above  the  student's  ac- 
count, is  returned  to  him  at  the  close  of  his  school  life. 

In  planning  the  student's  industrial  training,  the 
management  have  had  regard  to  his  future  needs.  No 
student  is  kept  continually  at  one  line  of  work.  A  young 
man  will  spend  a  while  in  the  general  farm  department. 
His  ability  to  handle  horses,  to  care  properly  for  the  tools 
and  machinery,  is  carefully  noted  by  the  one  in  charge; 
his  failures  and  errors  are  corrected,  and  a  record  is 
kept  of  his  progress  and  efficiency.  Later  this  student 
may  be  transferred  to  the  dairy  or  the  garden  department, 
where  similar  methods  of  training  are  pursued.  Thus 
in  a  practical  home-spun  fashion  young  men  are  trained 
how  to  do  well  some  of  the  common  things  of  life. 

A  shop  for  the  teaching  of  the  rudiments  of  wood 
and  iron  work  has  been  provided.  Its  equipment  is  far 
from  being  elaborate  —  the  theory  being  that  the  inter- 
ests of  the  future  rural  community  worker  will  be  best 
subserved  by  training  him  to  do  his  work  with  tools 
and  appliances  of  the  sort  which  he  is  likely  to  pos- 
sess and  be  obliged  to  use  in  his  own  life  work.  It  is 
held  that  there  is  danger  of  educating  men  and  women 
in  the  uses  of  equipment  which  they  can  never  afford  to 
own.  If  this  is  done  the  seeds  of  future  discontent  and 
dislike  for  the  humble  station  in  life  to  which  most  men 
and  women  are  called  will  be  engendered  and  a  founda- 
tion will  be  laid  for  mental,  material,  and  moral  failure. 

The  industries  for  women  embrace  nursing,  domestic 
work  in  all  its  ordinary  branches,  and  gardening.  The 


Learning  to  Teach  165 

young  women  are  instructed  in  the  preparation  of  simple 
yet  healthful  food.  The  work  of  the  school  and  sanitarium 
kitchens  is  performed  by  them  under  the  direction  of 
instructors.  They  are  taught  how  to  make  out  a  bill  of 
fare  which  will  give  a  balanced  ration.  An  attempt  is 
made  to  apply  the  lessons  of  the  physiology  class  to  the 
every-day  business  of  preparing  meals  for  a  hungry  com- 
pany of  hard-working  people.  Food  values  are  carefully 
studied,  the  various  degrees  of  digestibility  of  different 
articles  are  taken  into  account.  The  necessity  for  due 
proportions  of  proteids,  carbohydrates  and  fats  are  con- 
sidered in  the  making  up  of  the  daily  menu.  The  caring 
for  dairy  products  and  butter  making  is  also  taught  and 
some  have  become  quite  proficient  in  this  work. 

Every  student  takes  care  of  his  own  room.  The  gen- 
eral work  of  caring  for  the  sanitarium,  for  the  public 
buildings,  and  the  laundering  of  individual  and  institu- 
tional linen,  is  done  by  the  young  women. 

What  the  Madison  student  learns,  he  learns  that  he 
may  teach.  He  gathers  here,  puts  into  practise  here, 
the  principles  of  system,  order,  industry,  frugality; 
careful  planning,  perfect  execution;  breadth  of  view  and 
decision  of  character;  application  of  all  sciences  to  prac- 
tical life,  and  application  of  all  one's  own  powers  to 
the  problems  of  life  —  self-support,  study,  teaching. 
The  normal  work  —  teaching  to  teach  —  goes  through 
every  study  and  every  course.  As  the  student  learns 
the  laws  of  language,  for  example,  and  has  them  enforced 
in  class  and  out  of  class,  the  thought  is  impressed  upon 
him  that  he  must  become  perfect  in  order  that  he  may 
teach  others  to  be  perfect.  As  he  nails  the  studding  to 
the  plate,  as  he  turns  the  furrow  in  the  field,  as  he  mixes 
the  dough  in  the  bakery,  as  he  applies  the  fomentation 
in  the  bathroom,  he  is  taught  that  these  things  must 
be  learned  perfectly,  that  they  may  have  their  perfect 
work  in  the  lives  of  others.  Learning  to  teach,  and 
teaching  for  the  purpose  of  salvation,  this  is  the  prin- 
ciple that  animates  every  phase  of  the  work  at  Madison. 


XIII 
THE  OUT-SCHOOL  MOVEMENT 

A  STATE  senator  was  speaking  at  an  educational 
convention:  "When  I  was  school  superintendent 
of  Sumner  County/'  he  said,  "we  had  a  district  up  on 
the  rimlands  where  there  had  been  no  school  for  seven 
years.  The  last  teacher  we  had  there  was  a  young  lady, 
but  though  she  drew  her  salary  all  right,  she  quit,  and 
never  would  go  back.  She  had  so  much  trouble  that 
she  thought  the  best  thing  for  her  to  do  was  to  get  mar- 
ried. 

"Well,  four  years  ago  a  gentleman  from  that  sec- 
tion came  down  and  told  me  there  was  a  man  up  there 
who  had  actually  built  a  schoolhouse  and  paid  for  it 
himself,  and  was  holding  school!  We  county  super- 
visors were  used  to  sitting  on  the  treasury-lid,  and 
didn't  know  how  any  schoolhouse  could  go  up  or  any 
school  start  without  our  knowing  it  first.  So  this  re- 
port excited  my  curiosity  right  away.  I  wanted  to  see 
that  man.  So  I  opened  communication,  and  made  an 
appointment  with  him,  and  that  was  my  first  acquaint- 
ance with  Professor  Alden  and  his  fellow-workers.  They 
are  pure  gold,  twenty-four-carat.  I  know,  and  our  peo- 
ple know,  what  they  can  do  and  what  they  are  doing. 
They  are  in  the  forefront  of  the  uplift  of  the  rural  school. 
They  are  helping  to  develop  a  love  for  the  country  and 
to  bring  a  solution  of  its  problems  that  will  turn  the  tide 
(166) 


The  Out-School  Movement  167 

back  from  the  city.  If  all  the  schools  you  people  have 
are  like  the  three  in  Sumner  County,  we  want  more  of 
them.  I  am  glad  we  have  the  cooperation  of  such 
schools  as  Goodlettsville  and  Fountain  Head." 

The  schools  thus  mentioned  are  two  of  the  out- 
schools —  the  first  two  —  established  by  workers  from 
Madison.  About  a  year  and  a  half  after  the  founding 
of  the  Madison  School,  two  of  the  charter  members, 
C.  F.  Alden  and  B.  N.  Mulford,  were  delegated  to  begin 
the  out-school  work.  The  Madison  School  itself,  in  the 
midst  of  a  prosperous  community,  was  not  in  direct 
touch  with  the  most  needy  classes.  It  enlisted  and 
trained  for  the  service  young  men  and  women  from  both 
North  and  South,  who,  however,  must  gain  their  prac- 
tical experience  through  the  establishment  of  homes  and 
small  schools  in  more  backward  rural  districts. 

The  " Nashville  Basin"  is  a  depression  in  the  middle 
of  the  State,  with  a  rich  calcareous  soil,  verdant  with 
blue-grass  pastures  and  teeming  with  bountiful  crops. 
Nearly  surrounding  it  are  "the  rimlands,"  a  part  of  the 
Cumberland  piedmont.  From  the  basin  below,  the  land 
rises  steeply  for  five  hundred  feet  to  the  rocky,  sandy 
edge  of  the  upland.  For  ten  or  fifteen  miles  back  the 
land  is  comparatively  poor,  and  in  consequence  these 
"rimland"  communities  have  received  less  development 
than  more  favored  sections.  In  conditions  both  phys- 
ical and  social  their  people  are  closely  akin  to  the  moun- 
taineers of  the  Cumberland  Plateau. 

Fifteen  miles  from  Madison  and  seven  miles  from 
the  railroad  at  Goodlettsville  is  the  community  men- 
tioned at  the  beginning  of  the  chapter.  Here  in  Feb- 
ruary, 1906,  Alden,  Mulford,  and  Charley  Ashton  went 
to  look  for  a  place. 

There  was  a  seven-hundred-acre  piece  of  woods  for 
sale,  and  out  of  this  they  bargained  for  two  hundred 
and  fifty  acres,  at  $2,000,  borrowing  $700  to  make  the 
first  payment.  The  last  of  February  they  came  up 
to  the  place,  repaired  the  chicken  house  behind  the 


1 68  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

main  log  cabin  for  a  home,  and  began  clearing  land  and 
splitting  rails  for  fencing.  There  was  only  a  seven- 
acre  plot  of  ground  already  in  cultivation;  and  that, 
a  white  pipe-clayey  land,  had  been  for  ninety  years  de- 
voted to  tobacco,  until  its  hard,  baked  surface  looked 
discouraging. 

They  had  no  horse,  but  carried  their  provisions  on 
their  backs  seven  miles  up  the  mountain  from  Goodletts- 
ville.  They  could  bring  one  sack  of  cornmeal  every  trip; 
and  that,  with  water  from  their  spring,  made  then*  corn 
pone.  For  the  rest,  they  had  been  given  some  prunes, 
and  on  prunes  and  corn  bread  they  lived  for  some  weeks. 

But  plowing  time  came.  They  borrowed  a  buckskin 
mule,  a  turning  plow,  and  a  bull-tongue  plow,  and  went 
after  their  tobacco  field.  They  went  once  around  with 
the  turning  plow,  then  unhitched,  put  the  mule  to  the 
bull-tongue,  and  made  it  a  subsoiler  in  the  furrow; 
then  they  resinned  the  tinning  plow,  and  repeated  the 
process.  Thus  they  prepared  their  garden,  in  which 
that  year  the  tomatoes  were  the  wonder  of  the  land. 

In  April,  Mrs.  Ashton,  who  had  now  become  inter- 
ested in  the  work,  and  had  furnished  money  for  it,  came 
with  her  two  other  sons,  Robert  and  Ralph,  both  city 
young  men,  nurse  and  chauffeur,  who  had  never  felled 
a  tree  nor  worked  on  a  farm.  But  in  a  short  time  they 
had  become  woodsmen,  plowmen,  orchardists,  goat- 
herders,  and  bee-keepers. 

In  June  Mr.  Alden  brought  his  wife  to  the  place. 
With  gunnysacking,  newspapers,  and  whitewash,  they 
made  over  the  interior  of  the  main  log  house,  until  it 
appeared  a  mansion  to  many  of  their  neighbors.  In 
July  Mr.  John  Myers,  who  had  been  interested  by  Mr. 
Mulford,  came  from  Kansas,  with  his  two  mule  teams, 
and  a  carload  of  hay,  corn,  farming  implements,  and 
household  goods,  giving  the  goods,  his  own  time,  and 
the  use  of  his  teams  for  one  year  to  the  new  school. 
His  arrival  was  to  these  new  pilgrims  like  the  coming  of 
the  new  shiploads  of  pioneers  to  aid  and  hearten  the 


IELL  VENTILATED  BUT  COLD -IN  WINTER 

'AND   BUT    LITTLE   R.OOM    FOQ-    FODDER 


A  HANDSOME  AND  .ROOMY  SUBSTITUTE 


At  Fountain  Head  School,  Tennessee. 

With  good  cheer,  they  are  looking  forward  to  the  building  of  a  new 
barn  and  silo."     Pages  185  and  173. 


The  Out-School  Movement  169 

Mayflower  men  who  first  landed  on  the  rocky,  wooded 
shores  of  New  England.  They  thanked  God  and  took 
courage. 

Their  first  source  of  income  was  from  then:  timber, 
in  which  almost  all  their  land  lay.  They  cut  that  next 
winter  fifteen  hundred  feet  of  timber,  had  it  milled, 
and  hauled  it  twenty  miles  to  Nashville  to  sell.  They 
cut  the  best  of  their  white  oak  into  spoke  timber,  and 
were  able  to  boast,  for  the  fifteen  days  they  were  at  it, 
the  making  of  six  dollars  a  day.  Railway  ties  brought 
fifty  cents  apiece.  Thus,  living  simply  and  frugally, 
and  working  hard,  they  made  their  living  that  first 
year,  and  provided  lumber  for  a  new  story-and-a-half 
house. 

Alden  and  Mulford  went  to  the  community  as  home- 
seekers,  saying  nothing  about  the  possible  establishment 
of  a  school.  They  worked  with  their  hands  and  strug- 
gled for  a  living  like  the  rest  of  men;  and  though  Alden 
was  a  university  man,  he  "was  among  them  as  one  that 
labored."  But  when  his  wife  came,  the  community 
quickly  discovered  that  she  was  a  teacher,  because  she 
was  teaching  her  young  adopted  brother.  Whereupon 
they  came  and  asked,  "Why  can't  you  teach  us  a  school?" 
As  this  was  the  purpose  for  which  the  company  had  come, 
they  acceded  to  the  request,  and  in  the  fall  Mrs.  Alden 
began  the  school,  a  school  which  steadily  grew  until  it 
included  seventy-five  or  eighty  children,  and  required 
three  teachers. 

All  the  workers,  whether  in  the  schoolroom  or  out, 
are  teachers.  Thus  Mrs.  Ashton,  who  had  run  a  bakery 
in  Pittsburg,  soon  after  her  arrival  built  an  out-door 
oven  of  rock  and  lime  dust  scraped  from  the  roadbed, 
and  in  this  oven  she  baked  such  fine  big  brown  loaves 
of  light  bread  as  were  the  wonder  and  delight  of  house- 
wives for  miles  about.  No  one  hi  that  community  could 
make  light  bread,  and  in  a  short  time  Mrs.  Ashton  was 
holding  a  free  class  in  breadmaking,  which  was  attended 
by  dozens;  and  thereafter  corn  pone  and  soda  biscuits 


170  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

were  not  the  only  breads  in  the  homes  thereabouts. 

There  were  calls  also  for  help  in  accident  and  dis- 
ease, and  in  all  the  various  ways  in  which  neighbors 
may  be  of  help  to  neighbors.  Charley  Ashton  became 
the  community  blacksmith,  and  every  member  of  the 
school  family  found  his  services  hi  requisition  at  one  or 
another  duty.  And  as  free  as  were  the  neighborly  of- 
fices, so  free  was  instruction  in  books  or  in  manual  art,  to 
children  and  grown  people  alike.  The  school  became,  as 
it  was  designed,  a  public  institution  as  free  as  the  tax-fed 
government  schools,  but  made  so  through  the  hard, 
self-sacrificing  labors  of  the  promoters. 

This  was  by  no  means  an  easy  task,  and  while  the 
confidence  and  gratitude  of  the  community  was  gradu- 
ally being  won,  there  was  more  than  one  episode  that 
threatened  disaster  to  the  little  company  in  their  un- 
selfish mission.  The  people  are  open-hearted,  frank, 
and  free,  but  they  are  too  much  isolated  from  the  cen- 
ters of  jurisdiction  to  have  forgotten  the  prime  law 
that  — 

"He  may  take  who  has  the  might, 
And  he  may  keep  who  can." 

A  short  tune  after  the  establishment  of  the  school, 
they  signalized  their  power  by  abolishing  a  toll-gate 
which  shut  them  from  town,  and  was  often  employed  in 
making  vexatious  and  injurious  delays,  while  the  toll 
road  was  unworked  and  always  in  bad  condition.  Exas- 
perated finally  by  the  refusal  of  the  keeper  to  let  a  boy 
pass  who  was  riding  for  the  doctor,  the  men  armed, 
and  at  night,  poking  their  rifles  into  the  face  of  the  sleep- 
ing man,  disarmed  him  and  set  him  off  for  Nashville. 
Three  days  later,  the  owner  of  the  road  came  back  with 
an  armed  guard,  swearing  he  would  keep  his  gate  against 
the  devil  himself.  But  after  a  pitched  battle,  he  was 
glad  for  the  speed  of  his  blooded  horse,  for  he  was  chased 
by  the  angry  victors  to  the  very  suburbs  of  the  city. 


The  Out-School  Movement  171 

The  bullet-marked  tollhouse  still  stands  by  the  road- 
side, but  there  is  no  gate. 

Personal  freedom,  and  as  little  statute  law  as  pos- 
sible, was  the  desire  and  experience  of  the  rimlanders. 
For  one  thing,  while  the  county  had  a  stock  law,  the  land 
in  that  community  was  used  as  free  range,  and  the  one 
who  wanted  his  crops  protected  must  fence  against 
cattle  and  hogs.  To  do  so  unneighborly  a  thing  as  to 
invoke  the  no-fence  law,  would  be  to  make  undying  ene- 
mies, as  more  than  one  feud  testifies. 

On  the  seven-hundred-acre  tract  out  of  which  Alden 
bought,  one  man  pastured  seventy-five  head  of  swine. 
Alden  had  too  little  fence  to  protect  all  his  fields,  and 
what  he  had  was  rail  fence.  In  his  clearing  by  his  new 
house,  the  second  year,  he  was  raising  a  good  garden, 
which  the  hogs  were  not  slow  to  find  out.  Those  hogs 
ate  his  cabbage,  rooted  out  and  crunched  his  potatoes, 
and  devoured  his  corn  and  stover.  The  two  boys  in  the 
family  had  their  heels  twinkling  to  keep  them  out,  and 
the  dog  barked  till  he  was  too  hoarse  to  bark  any  more. 
Alden  was  cutting  hay  on  shares  away  from  home, 
to  save  an  impossible  bill  for  feed  the  next  winter,  and 
he  would  come  home  too  tired  to  stand  up,  only  to  hear 
that  those  hogs  had  eaten  up  all  his  early  potatoes.  Says 
he,  "I  sat  down  over  there  in  the  bushes  and  pondered 
what  I  should  do.  The  potatoes  were  our  main  depend- 
ence, as  they  are  now,  and  we  were  having  a  hard 
time  to  live.  I  had  appealed  to  the  man  to  keep  up  his 
hogs,  but  he  would  not;  he  complained  that  the  country 
was  being  spoiled  —  it  was  no  more  a  country  for  a  poor 
man  when  he  could  not  let  his  stock  run!  I  would  not 
use  the  law;  it  was  not  wise  to  do  so;  and  it  almost  seemed 
I  should  have  to  leave."  But  Alden  is  a  direct  descend- 
ant of  that  John  and  Priscilla  Alden  in  the  Pilgrim  com- 
pany who — " Brave  hearts  and  true!  not  one  went  back 
in  the  Mayflower."  They  held  on,  endured  their  losses, 
and  now,  when  the  stock  laws  are  observed,  they  have 


172  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

all  but  forgotten  the  episode  of  the  hogs  and  the  early 
potatoes. 

Mr.  Mulford  remained  with  the  Oak  Grove  Garden 
School  for  over  a  year,  when,  it  appearing  that  there  was 
sufficient  help  to  spare  him,  he  married,  and  with  his 
brother-in-law,  Forrest  West,  set  out  in  search  of  an- 
other needy  community.  Such  a  place  they  found  some 
twenty  miles  to  the  east. 

In  their  search  they  had  driven  up  into  the  hills 
from  Gallatin,  examining  a  number  of  places,  but  no- 
where finding  what  appealed  to  them.  At  a  little  sta- 
tion the  storekeeper  from  whom  they  bought  their  lunch 
of  crackers  and  peaches  curiously  inquired  if  they  were 
looking  for  land.  "Yes,"  they  told  him,  whereupon  he 
directed  them  to  the  westward,  to  a  certain  farm.  They 
turned  in  that  direction,  and  after  driving  a  mile  or  so 
they  came  upon  a  man  with  his  three  boys  chopping 
wood.  They  asked  him  where  his  children  went  to  school. 
Nowhere,  he  said;  never  had  gone.  Could  they  read? 
No;  none  of  his  six  children  could  read,  nor  could  he  and 
his  wife.  They  drove  on,  and  Mulford  said  to  his  com- 
panion, "  Forrest,  we  have  struck  the  place.  There's 
a  farm  for  us  somewhere  in  here!" 

And  they  found  it;  not  the  farm  to  which  they  had 
been  directed,  but  another  of  seventy-six  acres,  on  top 
of  a  bare  clay  hill  which  had  been  worked  and  over- 
worked until  the  neighbors  facetiously  declared  that  no 
one  could  raise  even  an  umbrella  on  it.  This  "school 
on  the  hill"  has  since  become  famed  among  the  rural- 
school  people  for  the  lessons  of  faith  and  courage  and 
persistence  its  members  have  written  for  others  to  see, 
and  for  the  leadership  it  has  taken  in  the  development 
of  plans  and  methods  for  the  out-schools.  Some  of  its 
experiences  are  detailed  in  later  chapters. 

Mrs.  West,  the  mother  and  mother-in-law  of  these 
two  men,  later  joined  the  company  with  her  three  daugh- 
ters. Today,  embowered  by  orchards,  vineyards,  and 
the  old  oak  grove,  and  almost  overshadowed  by  the  big 


The  Out-School  Movement  173 

red  barn  and  silo,  three  homes  stand  guarding  the  neat 
schoolhouse  and  the  grounds  of  the  Fountain  Head 
School.  The  building  of  a  small  hydropathic  home  is 
the  latest  accomplishment. 

The  history  of  these  schools  is  typical  of  the  experi- 
ence of  all  those  who  have  entered  the  out-school  work. 
At  the  annual  convention  held  at  Madison  in  1915, 
thirty-nine  groups  of  self-supporting  workers  were  re- 
ported, all  but  five  of  which  were  established  by  Madi- 
son students  or  those  influenced  to  this  work  by  the 
Madison  people.  Thirty  of  these  groups  were  con- 
ducting schools,  and  all  of  them  engage  in  some  form 
of  Christian  work  for  their  neighborhoods.  The  greater 
part  of  these  groups  are  in  Tennessee,  Alabama,  and 
North  Carolina,  and  in  the  mountains  or  piedmont. 

These  workers  are  not  on  salary,  except  in  the  case 
of  one  school  which  receives  county  funds.  They  have 
their  own  living  to  make  from  their  farms  and  other 
industries.  Some  have  received  help  from  relatives  or 
friends,  and  a  few  by  general  solicitation,  but  money  so 
raised  has  almost  invariably  been  intended  for  and  de- 
voted to  the  providing  of  buildings  or  equipment,  not 
for  living  expenses.  And  with  very  few  exceptions  the 
teachers  receive  no  money  tuition  from  their  pupils; 
for  they  hold  that  they  are  giving  the  gospel  in  a  con- 
crete way,  and  that  it  should  be  free  as  preaching.  They 
are  not  averse  to  receiving  gifts  for  their  support,  but 
they  hold  that  if  such  gifts  are  not  forthcoming,  their 
commission  to  teach  the  gospel  leaves  them  no  excuse 
for  neglecting  this  work.  They  must  do  it  by  some 
means  —  by  hard  work,  simple  living,  self-sacrifice;  and 
where  these  do  not  suffice,  by  simple  trust  in  Elijah's 
God. 

The  record  they  have  made,  of  establishing  and  main- 
taining, with  industrial  and  social  features,  thirty-three 
schools,  with  an  average  school  term  of  eight  months 
a  year,  and  with  an  approximate  enrolment  of  one  thou- 
sand pupils,  at  no  cost  to  the  state  and  none  to  the 


174  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

church  except  through  a  few  individual  gifts  —  such  a 
record,  it  will  be  admitted,  deserves  no  empty  applause 
merely,  but  active  encouragement.  And  it  gives  point 
to  these  commendatory  words  from  Mrs.  E.  G.  White: 

"The  school  at  Madison  not  only  educates  in  a  knowl- 
edge of  the  Scriptures,  but  it  gives  a  practical  training 
that  fits  the  student  to  go  forth  as  a  self-supporting 
missionary  to  the  field  to  which  he  is  called.  In  his  stu- 
dent days  he  is  taught  how  to  build  simply  and  substan- 
tially, how  to  cultivate  the  land,  and  care  for  the  stock. 
To  this  is  added  the  knowledge  of  being  able  to  treat 
the  sick  and  care  for  the  injured.  This  training  for  medi- 
cal missionary  work  is  one  of  the  grandest  objects  for 
which  any  school  can  be  established.  There  are  many 
suffering  from  disease  and  injury,  who,  when  relieved 
of  pain,  will  be  prepared  to  listen  to  the  truth.  Our 
Saviour  was  a  mighty  healer.  In  his  name  there  may  be 
many  miracles  wrought  in  the  South  and  in  other  fields 
through  the  instrumentality  of  the  trained  medical  mis- 
sionary. .  .  . 

"It  would  have  been  pleasing  to  God  if,  while  the 
Madison  School  has  been  doing  its  work,  other  such 
schools  had  been  established  in  different  parts  of  the 
Southern  field.  No  soul  should  be  left  in  darkness  if 
by  any  possible  means  he  can  be  enlightened.  There 
is  plenty  of  land  lying  waste  in  the  South  that  might 
have  been  improved  as  the  land  about  the  Madison 
School  has  been  improved.  .  .  .  The  time  is  soon 
coming  when  God's  people,  because  of  persecution, 
will  be  scattered  in  many  countries.  Those  who  have 
received  an  all-round  education  will  have  the  advantage 
wherever  they  are.  The  Lord  reveals  divine  wisdom  in 
thus  leading  his  people  to  the  training  of  all  their  facul- 
ties and  capabilities  for  the  work  of  disseminating  truth. 

"Every  possible  means  should  be  devised  to  estab- 
lish schools  on  the  Madison  order  in  various  parts  of 
the  South;  and  those  who  lend  their  means  and  their 
influence  to  help  this  work,  are  aiding  the  cause  of  God." 


FOREWORD 

In  the  following  sections  the  identity  of  persons  and 
places  is  usually  disguised,  a  course  born  of  the  modesty 
of  some  of  the  individuals  and  communities  concerned. 
The  incidents  related  are  true  in  every  particular,  and 
have  been  selected  with  the  purpose  of  giving  some 
glimpse  into  the  work-a-day  programs  of  the  self-sup- 
porting rural  mission  workers. 


"THE  young  man  of  the  mountain,  when  once 
educated,  is  so  confident  of  himself,  and  so  positive 
of  opinion,  that  he  is  admirably  adapted  to  be  a 
leader."  SAMUEL  T.  WILSON. 


XIV 

ON  AN  OLD  FRONTIER 

IN  THE  days  of  Washington,  the  frontier  of  America 
was  the  Appalachian  Mountains.  There  the  "Long 
Knives"  hunted  and  trapped,  and  there  the  early  set- 
tlers hewed  out  their  fields  from  the  forest,  built  their 
log  cabins  with  the  ax  alone,  and  found  the  necessaries 
of  life  within  the  bounds  of  their  little  world.  Today, 
while  the  border  has  swept  on  across  the  great  river 
and  the  wide  plains,  beyond  the  crest  of  the  Rockies 
and  to  the  very  edge  of  the  western  ocean,  much  of  the 
Alleghanies  and  the  Cumberlands  remain  in  their  con- 
ditions almost  as  truly  frontier  as  they  were  two  hun- 
dred years  ago.  And  he  who  would  go  to  minister  to 
the  needs  of  the  people  there,  as  teacher,  medical  mis- 
sionary, or  social  helper,  may  well  discover  that  he  is 
to  reproduce  the  hardy  life  his  great-grandfather  lived. 
Especially  is  this  true  to  the  self-supporting  and  light- 
purse  worker  who  makes  his  post  in  the  far  interior. 
Let  us  visit  one  of  these  stations  far  back  in  the 
mountains  of  North  Carolina.  We  alight  from  the  train 
at  a  little  village  huddled  in  one  long  street  between 
the  gripping  hands  of  the  hills,  with  our  journey  as  yet, 
in  point  of  time,  only  half  completed.  A  week  before 
we  have  sent  a  letter  on  its  circuitous  way  through  Ten- 
nessee and  Georgia,  asking  our  friends  to  meet  us  with 
12  (177) 


178  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

a  conveyance.  This  conveyance  proves  to  consist  of 
two  saddled  mules,  whose  first  back-woodsy  exploit  is 
to  take  fright  at  an  oncoming  freight  train  and  run 
away  with  us  half  through  the  village. 

With  suit-cases  strapped  to  the  sides  of  our  guide's 
mule,  we  take  our  way  out  of  the  town,  past  a  mill 
site,  and  across  the  tumbling  Tuckasegee,  and  set  our 
faces  toward  the  mountains  —  one  of  the  highest  ranges 
of  the  Appalachians  —  which  bar  our  way  to  the  school 
domain.  We  are  to  "hit  the  trail/7  our  guide  informs 
us,  about  six  miles  from  town.  He  might  have  brought 
us  through  by  wagon,  only  that  it  takes  twice  as  long 
each  way  and  is  much  more  uncomfortable.  The  wagon 
road  winds  around  and  in  and  out  over  the  mountains 
for  twenty  miles,  with  many  wash-outs  and  much  steep 
grade.  The  trail  shortens  the  distance  to  twelve  miles, 
but  at  the  cost  of  taking  some  of  it  almost  straight  up 
and  down.  From  the  county  road,  at  a  corner  by  a  coun- 
try store,  we  strike  into  a  private  road,  which  gives 
way  in  time  to  a  faint  wood  road,  and  that  in  turn  to 
the  trail  through  the  Gap. 

If  you  think  of  a  gap  as  a  gateway,  you  will  be  greatly 
mistaken.  A  gap  is  merely  an  aspiring  mountain  that 
has  failed  to  make  good.  It  is  lowly  only  in  comparison 
with  its  towering  companions-at-arms.  It  gives  you  all 
the  thrills  of  mountain  climbing,  all  the  pulls  and 
wrenches,  the  puffings  and  perspirings,  all  the  illusions 
of  early  conquest  and  disappointments  of  unguessed 
heights.  The  trail  that  lures  you  on  your  hazardous 
way  takes  you  over  stony  stretches  and  through  oozy 
wallows  where  the  springs  seep  out,  then  upward  past 
deserted  tanbark  camps  into  a  tangle  of  fallen  logs  and 
briery  glades,  and  last,  upon  a  stairless  ascent  that  makes 
you  certain  you  are  on  the  roof  of  the  world.  Either, 
like  the  mountaineer,  you  dismount  and  pull  your  mule 
up  by  the  reins,  or  you  lie  upright  along  his  back  and 
pity  him  as,  with  heavings  and  sobs  and  grunts,  he  makes 
his  last  successful  scramble  to  the  top  of  the  Gap. 


On  an  Old  Frontier  179 

And  there,  under  the  great  chestnut  trees,  we  pause 
for  a  breathing  spell  before  attempting  the  equally  ter- 
rific descent.  In  two  directions  at  least,  the  Gap  gives 
as  good  a  view  as  the  peak.  We  trace,  winding  and 
diving  and  reappearing,  the  way  we  have  come,  back 
to  the  railroad,  and  beyond,  away,  away,  over  seas  of 
ridges  and  knobs,  to  the  sky-line  of  the  distant  Smokies. 

But  we  turn  with  greater  interest  to  the  other  side 
of  the  Gap;  for  there,  shut  in  by  a  great  winding  circle 
of  high  mountains,  is  the  kingdom  whose  heart,  to  us, 
is  the  little  mountain  school.  Down  a  certain  narrow 
valley  —  little  and  shallow  it  looks  from  this  height, 
but  sufficiently  deep  when  viewed  from  within  itself 
—  we  trace  the  road  that  leads  to  the  school,  hidden 
beyond  some  wooded  hills.  And  down  we  plunge  to 
the  headsprings  of  the  creek  that  leads  us  on  our  way 
through  Eden  Valley. 

Edenic  is  this  valley,  perhaps,  in  some  respects:  in 
its  isolation,  the  primitiveness  of  its  life,  and  the  dainty 
charm  of  its  springtime,  from  the  early  dawn  of  trailing 
arbutus  to  the  sunshine  of  rhododendron  and  wild  rose. 
But  now! —  a  drizzling  rain  that  set  in  at  the  top  of  the 
Gap  has  swathed  us  in  folds  of  moisture  and  melan- 
choly, and  any  memories  of  Eden  that  suggest  them- 
selves have  reference  to  that  last  sad  day  when  its  gates 
were  shut  upon  a  hapless  pair. 

Greater,  then,  the  welcome  when  we  draw  rein  be- 
fore the  home  of  our  friends,  and,  drenched  and  cold, 
stiffly  lower  ourselves  from  the  saddles.  Bareheaded, 
radiant,  Mr.  Arthur  stands  out  at  the  roadside  to  greet 
us,  and  Mis'  Margaret's  rosy  face  is  framed  in  the  door- 
way. Behind  is  a  roaring  fire  in  the  rough  stone  fire- 
place, and  the  once  dark,  low  room  is  transformed  with 
paint  and  pictures  to  match  the  glow  of  love  that  has 
come  here  into  the  mountains. 

It  is  a  rough  little  shack  of  a  one-room  house  that 
the  teachers  have  adopted,  but  with  a  triple  division 
and  the  addition  of  a  two-room  lean-to,  it  serves  with 


i8o  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

distinction  not  only  for  their  home  but  for  the  housing 
also  of  three  or  four  students  from  a  distance.  Some  there 
are  who  tramp  daily  six  to  eight  miles,  through  sunshine 
or  rain,  to  and  from  the  school,  but  others  there  are, 
even  from  neighboring  counties,  who  are  begging  for  a 
chance  to  come  and  live  at  the  school.  The  triple  di- 
vision of  the  one-room  cabin  is  a  partial  answer  to  the 
plea. 

Two  of  these  students  are  to  arrive  this  evening, 
and  they  come  an  hour  later,  trudging  through  the  mud 
behind  their  " pappy"  with  his  ox-sled  that  holds  their 
single  box  of  necessaries  and  valuables.  Shy  to  the 
verge  of  terror  they  are,  especially  at  having  to  meet  two 
"furriners"  like  ourselves;  but  their  father,  nothing 
daunted,  preserves  an  immobile  face  behind  his  bushy 
whiskers,  and  proves  himself  in  conversation  a  man  of 
information  concerning  those  things  wherein  he  should 
be  informed. 

But  soaked  through  they  are,  they  all  make  light 
of  this  tussle  with  the  elements:  " Hain't  nothin'  to 
flurry  over.  We-alPs  used  to  gettin'  damp  here  in  the 
mountains."  Nevertheless,  Mis'  Margaret  has  the  girls 
off  for  a  change  to  dry  clothing  —  mostly  borrowed  — 
before  we  sit  down  to  the  smoking  hot  meal  that  has 
postponed  itself  several  hours  for  this  occasion. 

And  then  comes  evening  worship  and  a  time  of 
singing  around  the  piano.  That  piano  is  the  wonder  of 
the  valley,  and  well  it  deserves  its  fame,  for  it  came  the 
twenty  miles  of  rough  roads  over  the  mountains,  with  their 
gullies  and  ruts  and  rocks  and  dips  and  tippings.  It 
was  three  weeks  on  the  way,  and  in  expenditure  of  time 
and  energy  and  muscle  and  nerve  cost  nearly  as  much 
for  its  transportation  as  its  original  value.  But  it  makes 
liquid  sunshine  now  when  days  are  dark,  not  only  for 
the  teacher  who  insisted  on  its  coming,  but  for  the  mu- 
sical soul  of  many  a  boy  and  girl  who  aspires  to  its  mas- 
tery. 

The  schoolhouse,  up  on  the  hill,  asserts  its  superiority 


On  an  Old  Frontier  181 

over  the  home  both  in  size  and  finish.  It  stands  out  in 
its  pride  and  paint  to  challenge  the  whole  valley  below, 
and  on  such  a  bright  morning  as  followed  our  rain  the 
whole  valley  responds.  They  come,  these  children,  from 
up  and  down  the  bottoms,  and  from  out  the  hidden, 
narrow  coves,  from  off  the  hill  and  mountain  sides,  until 
there  is  a  muster  of  mountain  forces  that  remind  you 
of  the  swift  gatherings  on  Nolichucky  and  Watauga  for 
the  foray  against  Oconostota  or  the  thrust  at  Ferguson. 
It  is  a  muster,  indeed,  of  forces  to  threaten  a  foe; 
but  not  that  foe.  The  British  long  ago  ceased  to  be  ene- 
mies. The  last  remnant  of  the  Cherokee  nation  this 
side  of  the  Mississippi  now  live  secure  upon  their  reserva- 
tion but  a  few  miles  to  the  west.  Here  in  the  ancient 
land  of  the  Erati  the  muster  is  not  for  bloody  combat, 
but  for  warfare  against  a  more  insidious  and  more  dread- 
ful foe,  ignorance.  And  is  there  any  one  who,  beholding 
these  lads  and  lassies  gathered  here,  in  checked  shirt 
and  butternut  jeans  and  coarse  brogans,  in  poke  bonnet 
and  blue  and  pink  prints,  who  would  deny  them  as 
brave  spirits,  as  lofty  aims,  as  deep  and  willing  sacrifice 
in  the  cause  they  have  espoused,  as  any  of  their  fathers 
in  the  times  of  war?  They  fight  a  daily  battle  against 
poverty  and  narrowness  and  a  sodden  inertia  that  is 
more  than  prejudice;  they  fight  this  battle  with  a  cheer 
and  determination  that  is  worthy  of  its  higher  use. 
With  their  forefathers  they  share  the  log  home,  the  hol- 
lowed spring,  the  ox-team,  the  corn  pone  and  side-meat. 
They  share  with  them  almost  equally  the  homespun 
and  the  lack  of  books,  the  skill  with  loom  and  rifle  and 
ax,  and  the  drab  monotony  of  an  isolated  life.  And  when 
they  muster  here  at  the  rendezvous  of  the  schoolhouse, 
there  is  promise  in  their  courage  for  a  deliverance, 
not  of  necessity  from  all  their  primitive  physical  con- 
ditions —  often  of  more  value  than  ill  —  but  from  the 
bondage  of  an  ill-instructed  and  depressing  life.  Their 
mud-soaked  shoes,  for  all  the  service  of  the  door  mat, 
may  trace  their  progress  across  the  white  floor  of  the 


1 82  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

schoolroom,  but  their  eyes  are  lifted  to  the  inspiration 
of  the  walls,  bright  with  print  and  map  and  lithograph 
and  sloyd  design,  bright,  too,  with  the  undying  bril- 
liance of  the  mottoes  shining  there:  "I  will  lift  up 
mine  eyes  unto  the  hills,  from  whence  cometh  my  help," 
and  "How  beautiful  upon  the  mountains  are  the  feet 
of  him  that  bringeth  good  tidings,  that  publisheth  peace." 
And  their  resolve  can  be  read  in  their  faces,  to  get  that 
help,  to  be  that  messenger. 

Out  upon  the  grounds  in  the  afternoon  we  see  another 
phase  of  their  training.  The  older  boys  have  gone  to 
the  building  of  the  barn  and  the  pruning  of  the  grapes; 
some  of  the  girls  are  in  the  sewing  class.  But  up  here  in 
the  grove  the  younger  boys  are  at  work  with  a  teacher 
clearing  underbrush.  Axes  and  mattocks  are  getting  out 
the  dead  logs,  the  saplings,  and  the  bushes.  But  the 
chief  center  of  attraction  is  a  yearling  the  boys  have 
been  given  to  break  in.  We  who  know  nothing  about  the 
breaking  in  of  "cattle"  must  exhibit  an  innocent  faith 
that  these  sons  of  ox-teamsters  are  doing  the  proper 
thing.  At  any  rate,  they  are  going  at  it  with  a  zest 
that  betokens  enjoyment.  The  stubborn  little  steer  is 
geed  and  hawed  and  whoaed,  with  pushes  and  pulls 
that  are  meant  to  teach  him  these  English  words;  and 
though  he  takes  it  into  his  little  bull  head  often  to  cut 
counter  to  directions,  he  and  they  succeed  in  time  in 
getting  a  goodly  pile  of  poles  and  stumps  and  brush 
together  for  the  burning.  The  boys  declare  him  "break- 
ing fine."  Perhaps  he  will  never  come  to  yoke  service 
upon  the  school  farm;  for  he  is  an  anachronism  along- 
side the  mule  teams,  but  he  may  soon  be  under  the  eye 
of  one  of  these  boys  or  their  brothers,  drawing  saw- 
logs  down  to  the  mill  below.  He  is  not  out  of  date  in 
the  valley. 

Of  commerce  there  is  little.  An  easier  route  there 
is  to  the  outside  world,  through  a  railroad  that  runs 
down  into  Georgia,  but  its  high  rates  little  encourage 
exchange,  and  only  the  commoner  necessities  are  much 


On  an  Old  Frontier  183 

indulged  in  at  the  country  stores.  The  self-sufficient 
resourcefulness  of  the  pioneer  yet  lingers  here,  from 
wooden  pegs  and  sunbonnets  to  grist  mills  and  primitive 
forges.  The  school  and  its  teachers  must  perforce  par- 
take of  much  of  the  same  conditions.  It  is  not  their 
purpose  to  revamp  this  society  into  an  imitation  of  the 
" foreign'7  brand.  There  are,  of  course,  such  influences 
at  work,  through  men  who  go  out  and  come  in;  but 
to  the  Christian  teacher  the  simplicity,  the  hospitality, 
the  frugality,  even  the  slower  movement  of  the  commu- 
nity life,  all  these  are  a  precious  heritage  in  this  day  of 
pretension,  waste,  and  rush.  The  learning  for  mind  and 
hand  which  they  bring  is  to  make  helpers,  not  imita- 
tors. They  curtail,  then,  their  needs  and  bind  about 
their  wants  and  wishes,  supplying  themselves,  so  far  as 
possible,  from  the  products  of  the  farm,  and  emulating 
their  people  in  small  expenditures.  One  of  the  teachers 
said  that  a  friend  sent  her  a  dollar  eight  months  before, 
which  has  been  her  sole  funds  for  that  time,  and  which 
still  remains  intact.  In  sharing  of  burdens,  alliance  of 
interests,  seeing  and  striving  for  ideals,  they  make  them- 
selves, not  the  beckoners,  but  the  leaders,  of  their  peo- 
ple. 

*  *  *  * 

Not  so  different  in  externals,  and  yet  with  its  own 
characteristics,  is  the  elevated  table-land  in  Alabama 
on  which  some  of  our  schools  are  established.  Its  pre- 
cipitous sides  make  it  a  very  isolated  region.  Some  of 
those  who  live  on  its  rolling  top  have  never  been  off 
the  mountain.  The  soil  is  in  some  places  good,  and 
in  others  exceedingly  poor.  The  most  of  the  surface 
is  wooded,  but  the  little  farms  in  the  several  settlements 
or  away  out  in  the  clearings  have  all  the  characteris- 
tics of  the  properties  of  our  great-grandfathers  in  this 
new  West.  Ox-teams  and  "jinnys"  far  outnumber  the 
horses  and  mules  as  work-stock. 

The  second  of  our  schools  to  be  established  on  this 
mountain  is  the  one  we  now  will  visit.  We  find  our- 


1 84  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

selves  near  a  famous  locality  in  the  valley  whence  we 
start  to  climb.  Here  along  the  Tennessee  dwelt  the 
Chickamaugas  in  the  days  of  old,  and  not  a  mile  from 
where  our  feet  stand  upon  the  station  platform  is  their 
most  noted  stronghold,  Nickojack  Cave.  Into  this 
cave  the  Indians  used  to  retreat  when  hard  pressed, 
carrying  with  them  as  much  as  possible  of  their  goods 
and  plunder.  As  it  winds  and  twists  under  the  mountain 
to  an  unknown  distance,  no  pursuing  party  was  ever 
able  to  dislodge  the  fugitive  redman  once  he  had  made 
his  escape  into  the  cave. 

Up  the  mountainside  for  two  miles  to  the  top,  and 
then  on  for  an  equal  distance,  we  make  our  way  to  the 
school  and  farm  of  Brother  Walter  and  his  wife,  Sister 
Dora.  Now  you  are  introduced,  hi  this  farm  of  Brother 
Walter's,  to  a  reason  for  the  "jinnys."  Its  land  was 
simply  too  poor  to  support  a  team  of  horses  or  mules,  and 
so  he  bought  for  eighty-five  dollars  a  team  of  unusually 
big  "  jinnys,"  with  double  harness.  Mr.  Walter's  land,  a 
thin,  sandy  soil,  would  grow,  as  he  discovered,  no  more 
than  five  bushels  of  corn  per  acre.  A  horse  would  eat 
that  in  half  as  many  months,  whether  working  or  idle, 
but  a  "jinny"  will  do  with  an  ear  at  a  feeding,  and  when 
not  working  will  subsist  quite  luxuriously  upon  the 
leaves  and  the  scanty  grass  in  the  forest  range.  With  his 
"jinny"  team  Mr.  Walter  hauled  railway  ties,  four  or 
five  at  a  load,  down  the  mountain  to  the  railroad.  Two 
loads  a  day  brought  him  one  dollar,  and  the  "jinnys" 
would  not  take  more  than  ten  cents  of  that.  With  his 
"jinnys,"  too,  he  plowed  his  land,  and  hauled  forest 
leaves  for  fertilizer. 

Mr.  Walter  has  one  hundred  sixty  acres,  twenty- 
seven  of  which  once  were  cleared,  but  having  grown  up 
in  brush  have  to  be  cleared  over  again.  A  stiff  yellow 
clay  underlies  his  sandy  top  soil  of  two  or  three  inches' 
depth.  Deep  plowing  the  first  year  would  mean  no 
crop,  and  he  had  only  begun  the  process  of  plowing 
deeper,  inch  by  inch,  turning  under  humus  in  the  form 


On  an  Old  Frontier  185 

of  leaves,  for  of  course  he  had  almost  no  stable  manure, 
his  two  cows  having  also  to  browse  and  graze  in  the  for- 
est. 

At  the  moment  we  come  upon  them,  Mis7  Dora 
and  her  mother  are  picking  over  strawberries  for  dinner. 

"What  beautiful  wild  berries  you  find  here!"  is  our 
exclamation. 

"Wild!"  is  the  indignant  response,  "those  are  our 
finest  garden  product."  And  indeed  we  find,  though 
they  have  the  best  of  plant  stock,  and  though  they  have 
fertilized  with  pine  needles,  the  product  is  little  more 
than  equal  to  the  wild  berries.  And  the  wild  black- 
berries which  are  everywhere  so  abundant  can  surpass 
all  their  garden  might  attempt.  More  than  that,  there 
are  escaped  apple  trees  in  abandoned  clearings  and  in 
the  midst  of  the  forest,  that  furnish  no  inconsiderable 
crop,  as  we  learn  later  at  a  convention,  when  Mis' 
Dora  reports  that  her  husband  has  remained  at  home 
to  gather  such  a  harvest. 

More  cheerful,  happy,  earnest  workers  could  not  be 
found  in  palaces.  Their  palace  is  an  ancient,  ramshackle 
house  whose  leaky  roof,  though  often  patched,  must  in 
times  of  rain  be  supplemented  by  many  pans  upon  the 
floor,  to  keep  the  soil  beneath  from  being  washed  away. 
But  they  have  built  a  new  schoolhouse  for  the  school, 
which,  begun  the  first  year,  must  be  housed  in  a  proper 
place;  and  there  is  a  tiny  cottage  also  for  Mis7  Dora's 
mother.  With  good  cheer  they  are  looking  forward  to 
the  building  of  a  new  house  for  themselves  next  year, 
when  Mr.  Walter's  father  expects  to  move  down  from 
Iowa.  And  while  no  tuition  is  charged  they  are  not  un- 
remembered  nor  wholly  unrequited  by  the  people  to 
whom  they  are  giving  their  lives.  A  mother  brought 
them  a  present  of  her  handiwork,  a  beautiful  pattern 
quilt,  and  when  they  expressed  their  appreciation  — 
"Well,"  said  she,  "we  think  a  heap  more  of  the  educa- 
tion you  are  giving  our  children  than  you  can  think  of 
the  quilt." 


1 86 


The  Men  of  the  Mountains 


These  schools  and  their  teachers  are  by  no  means 
exceptions  hi  the  matter  of  their  poverty,  self-denial, 
and  courage.  They  are  the  rule,  and  incidents  innumer- 
able might  be  mentioned  of  workers  living  on  insufficient 
food  for  months,  of  enduring  cold  in  thin  clothing  and 
thin  walls,  of  cheerfully  facing  privations,  and  anxiously 
scanning  means  for  meeting  obligations;  and  all  this 
not  for  a  short  time  only,  but  as  an  experience  of  years. 
And  this  they  do,  not  to  gain  some  great  end  for  them- 
selves, but  that  the  poor,  the  ignorant,  and  the  help- 
less shall  have  the  blessings  of  education,  health,  and 
salvation. 


XV 
BEHIND  THE  BACK  OF  MAMMON 

MAMMON,  the  god  of  riches,  turns  his  back  upon 
these  self-supporting  rural-school  workers.  If  they 
were  seeking  his  face,  they  would  not  enter  this  kind 
of  work.  They  have  cast  their  all  of  time,  and  strength, 
and  money,  at  the  feet  of  their  Lord  Jesus,  to  be  used 
in  carrying  the  truth  and  power  of  an  applied  gospel 
to  those  who  sorely  need  it.  Often  their  time  seems 
insufficient  for  their  many  duties  and  burdens;  some- 
times their  strength,  physical  and  mental,  is  exhausted; 
and  as  for  money  —  always  their  station  is  behind  the 
back  of  Mammon.  This  is  not  a  complaint,  it  is  a  re- 
joicing: "  approving  ourselves  as  the  ministers  of  God 
.  .  .  alway  rejoicing;  as  poor,  yet  making  many  rich; 
as  having  nothing,  and  yet  possessing  all  things."  "There- 
fore I  take  pleasure  in  infirmities,  in  reproaches,  in  ne- 
cessities, in  persecutions,  in  distresses  for  Christ's  sake: 
for  when  I  am  weak,  then  I  am  strong."  This  is  the 
Christian's  attitude;  and  the  Christian  who  devotes 
his  all  to  his  Master's  use  is  in  the  way  of  being  a  self- 
supporting  worker,  who  is  always  a  supporter  of  others. 
He  finds,  too,  that  the  Lord  who  said,  "Seek  ye  first 
the  kingdom  of  God,  .  .  .  and  all  these  things 
shall  be  added  unto  you,"  is  a  better  provider  than 
Mammon. 

One  night  in  the  late  nineties,  a  young  man  in  the 

(187) 


1 88  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

mountains  of  North  Carolina  went  out  to  think  under 
the  stars.  For  seven  years  he  and  his  wife  had  devoted 
all  their  time,  strength,  and  money  to  a  work  in  the 
mountains.  Now  he  stared  up  at  the  charred  remains 
of  a  fire-swept  building  on  the  hill  that  had  held  his  all. 
Their  few  thousands  were  gone;  they  were  penniless. 
Within  then-  temporary  shelter  lay  dying  the  young 
woman  who  had  seemed  the  most  precious  fruits  of  their 
labors  in  the  mountains.  In  that  hour  of  depression 
he  could  see  no  results  of  their  sacrifice,  and  an  over- 
powering impulse  came  upon  him  to  leave  the  work  of 
the  mountains.  But  then  there  came  to  him  the  ex- 
perience and  the  words  of  Job.  His  property  had  been 
swept  away,  his  sons  and  daughters  slain,  his  own  body 
tortured  with  pain.  Yet  "in  all  this  Job  sinned  not, 
nor  charged  God  foolishly";  for  he  said,  "The  Lord 
gave,  and  the  Lord  hath  taken  away;  blessed  be  the  name 
of  the  Lord." 

Not  yet,  reflected  young  Marshall,  had  he  given 
his  life  nor  even  his  health,  and  so  long  as  these  remained 
there  could  be  no  excuse  for  desertion.  There  he  regis- 
tered a  vow  that  with  the  blessing  of  health,  come  what 
might,  he  would  never  desert  his  post. 

Soon  after,  he  had  a  vivid  dream  of  a  place  which 
it  seemed  he  had  purchased,  with  an  old  log  house, 
gnarled  old  apple  trees,  and  a  tangle  of  weeds  and  bri- 
ers. As  he  looked  off  to  the  right,  he  saw  a  man  coming 
through  the  ruinous  place,  whose  glances  seemed  to  dis- 
close more  plainly  every  unkempt  spot.  This  man  be- 
gan directing  him  to  prune  the  trees,  to  clear  away  the 
debris,  and  to  lay  out  a  lawn.  And  the  impression  came 
to  him  that  this  was  to  be  his  future  place  of  work. 

Within  a  few  days,  while  he  was  pondering  this  dream, 
he  was  made  trustee  of  certain  moneys,  which  he  loaned 
on  good  security  for  his  wards,  while  he  began  carpentry 
work  for  a  living.  But  soon  one  man  to  whom  he  had 
loaned  money,  came  into  difficulties,  and  proposed  to 
turn  in  his  farm  for  his  debt  and  a  further  loan.  Advised 


Behind  the  Back  of  Mammon  189 

by  his  bondsmen,  Marshall  accepted  the  proposition, 
and  so  came  into  possession,  in  trust,  of  just  such  a  farm 
as  he  had  seen  in  his  dream.  Through  later  develop- 
ments, this  property  became  devoted  to  the  school  work 
hi  which  Marshall  was  interested. 

With  his  wife  and  his  two  aunts  he  moved  into  the 
log  house,  planning  to  make  it,  as  soon  as  possible, 
more  than  a  home  for  themselves.  He  had  long  had  in 
mind  a  work  for  orphans  and  aged  people,  and  though 
having  no  prospects  for  such  a  work,  he  now  planned  for 
it.  To  provide  light  farm  work  for  old  and  young,  he 
set  out  fruit  and  began  on  the  old  worn-out,  sterile  land 
to  prepare  garden  ground. 

Another  man  who  had  been  connected  with  him, 
a  physician,  moved  into  a  near-by  log  cabin,  and  joined 
him  in  Christian  help  work  among  their  neighbors. 
It  was  a  rough  and  lawless  district,  where  more  than 
one  man  held  his  own  by  right  of  pistol,  and  where 
"  woods-colts/ '  as  children  of  unknown  paternity  were 
called,  were  nearly  as  numerous  as  the  legitimate.  There 
was  no  school  in  the  community,  and  when  fall  came,  the 
question  occurred  to  these  two  men,  "  Shall  we  try  to 
build  us  better  houses  now,  or  build  a  meeting-house 
and  schoolhouse  first?"  They  decided  that  the  work 
of  the  Lord  should  come  first.  But  they  had  no  money 
with  which  to  begin.  However,  said  Marshall  to  Doctor 
Ed,  "We  have  one  thing;  that  is,  a  place  to  build:  that 
nice  little  wooded  knoll  on  the  corner  of  my  land." 

Monday  morning  they  went  over  to  the  spot  with 
their  axes.  They  knelt  down  and  prayed  that  God  would 
bless  the  enterprise  they  were  about  to  begin.  And  then 
they  fell  to  with  their  axes.  Not  a  ray  of  light  had  they 
as  to  how  they  could  build  a  schoolhouse,  but  at  least 
they  were  providing  the  firewood  to  burn  in  it. 

About  ten  o'clock  a  scheme  struck  Marshall's  mind, 
and  he  said  to  his  companion:  "Doctor,  there's  a  barn 
up  in  the  woods  half  a  mile  away  which  I  believe  we  can 
buy  cheap."  They  shouldered  their  axes  and  went 


190  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

over  to  look  at  it,  and  they  found  it  a  20  x  29  foot  struc- 
ture, framed  up  like  a  house,  twelve  feet  high,  and  with 
a  lean-to  —  at  least  five  thousand  feet  of  lumber  in  it. 

That  afternoon  Marshall  went  to  see  the  owner, 
who  asked  eighteen  dollars  for  the  barn.  "Is  that  too 
much?"  he  said. 

"No,"  replied  the  teacher,  "it's  a  bargain  at  eighteen 
dollars;  but  as  I'm  getting  donations,  I'm  going  to  ask 
you  for  a  gift  of  three  dollars.  Let  us  have  the  barn 
for  fifteen  dollars." 

"All  right,"  said  the  man.  And  Marshall  walked 
away  with  his  bargain  in  his  head  and  not  a  dollar  in  his 
pocket. 

Mrs.  Doctor  Ed  had  fifteen  dollars  which  her  mother 
had  just  sent  her  for  clothing  and  other  needed  articles. 
She  gave  this  to  buy  the  barn.  By  Tuesday  night  the 
barn  lumber  was  all  piled  up  on  the  school  grounds, 
with  every  old  nail  carefully  pulled  out  and  saved  up 
for  rebuilding.  A  man  in  the  neighborhood  gave  fifty 
dollars,  and  others  gave  their  labor,  while  Marshall 
and  the  Doctor  put  in  every  cent  they  could  get.  So 
the  little  schoolhouse  was  built  at  a  cost  of  one  hundred 
twenty-five  dollars,  with  a  valuation  twice  that.  A 
Sabbath  school  in  Ohio  raised  twenty-two  dollars  to 
pay  for  the  twenty-four  seats,  made  hi  the  shops  of  an- 
other school  in  the  next  county.  A  teacher  was  ob- 
tained, and  thus  the  school  began. 

In  1914  it  had  an  average  attendance  of  fifty  to 
sixty  children,  most  of  whom  had  previously  had  little 
or  no  school  advantages;  and  a  church  of  devoted  men, 
women,  and  young  people  had  been  raised  up  to  hold  a 
light  in  that  corner  of  the  wilderness. 

Two  years  after  the  building  of  the  schoolhouse, 
Marshall  felt  more  strongly  impressed  to  build  a  home 
for  old  people,  and  he  told  the  Lord  that  though  he  had 
all  on  his  hands  it  seemed  he  could  do,  yet  if  a  thousand 
dollars  should  be  placed  in  his  hands  without  his  seek- 
ing it,  he  would  build  that  home. 


Behind  the  Back  of  Mammon  191 

A  month  or  two  later,  one  of  his  uncles  came  South, 
and  very  soon  asked  his  nephew  if  a  thousand  dollars 
would  help  him  in  any  way. 

"Yes,"  said  Marshall,  "that  will  answer  the  test 
I  have  made  as  to  whether  I  should  build  a  home  for  the 
aged." 

Later  his  uncle  added  more,  and  a  house  of  fifteen 
rooms  was  erected  in  which  orphan  children  and  a 
number  of  old  people  lived  with  Mr.  Marshall's  family. 
They  were  supported  —  food,  clothing,  and  other  neces- 
saries—  by  the  farm,  on  which  they  raised  as  money 
crops,  fruit,  peanuts,  Irish  potatoes,  a  little  cotton, 
and  dairy  products.  By  various  providences  the  insti- 
tution accumulated  a  property  worth  five  thousand 
dollars,  and  did  a  work  incalculable  in  value.  Some- 
times the  fare  was  meager,  always  the  work  pressed  hard, 
often  financial  crises  came  to  test  the  faith  of  the  work- 
ers, but  repeatedly  the  providence  of  God  opened  the 
way  to  success. 

A  young  man  who  had  been  under  the  training  of 
the  Madison  teachers  in  the  North  gave  his  life  to  the 
Southern  work.  He  and  his  bride  spent  their  honey- 
moon in  driving  from  Michigan  to  Tennessee,  with  an 
old  white  horse  his  father  gave  them,  and  with  a  binder 
canvass  for  a  tent. 

They  bought  a  place  of  one  hundred  twenty-five 
acres,  three  miles  from  the  railroad,  for  twelve  hundred 
dollars,  partly  on  time,  planning  to  make  of  it  a  stock 
farm.  The  larger  part  was  old,  worn  land.  There  was 
an  old  log  house  on  the  place,  so  leaky  that  the  flour 
barrel  had  to  have  one  special  corner,  and  so  drafty 
that  a  dozen  thicknesses  of  newspapers  on  the  wall 
could  not  shut  out  the  cold.  At  first,  however,  they  had 
not  the  benefit  of  this  house,  but  only  of  a  6  x  10  shed, 
for  the  previous  owners  stayed  some  weeks.  When  in 
the  fall  they  did  get  into  the  log  house,  they  felt  it  un- 
inhabitable during  the  winter,  and  so  put  up  a  shack 
board  house  which  was  to  serve  until  they  could  erect 


192  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

a  better  home,  as  they  hoped,  the  following  year.  With 
his  last  hundred  dollars  young  St.  John  bought  another 
horse.  Then  came  a  series  of  misfortunes. 

First  one  horse  died,  then  the  other.  Then,  while  he 
was  away,  the  shack  home  caught  fire  and  burned  with 
practically  everything  in  it.  He  was  left  without  any 
chance  at  all  to  succeed  on  the  farm,  but  he  called  on  no 
one  for  gifts.  He  gathered  together  a  little  lumber, 
and  put  up  the  shell  of  a  new  house,  and  into  it  they 
moved.  Here  he  left  his  wife  with  a  young  girl,  while 
he  went  to  the  city,  fifteen  miles  away,  to  work  all  winter 
at  carpentry;  his  young  wife,  a  city-bred  girl,  stayed 
on  the  farm  to  look  after  the  chickens  and  the  cows, 
and  to  rescue  the  young  lambs  from  the  sleety  weather 
in  the  early  spring.  Every  other  Sabbath  St.  John 
would  try  to  be  at  home,  and  once  his  wife  came  to 
stay  with  him  a  few  days  in  the  city.  With  this  respite, 
she  pluckily  held  the  fort  through  the  winter,  until  her 
husband  could  come  back  with  enough  money  to  add  a 
little  more  to  the  unfinished  house,  and  to  put  up  eighty 
rods  of  wire  fence,  and  to  buy  another  team  on  part  pay- 
ment. 

Then  he  alternated  days  of  plowing  and  sowing 
with  weeks  of  work  on  houses  and  barns  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, by  which  means  he  earned  enough  to  keep  alive, 
to  pay  up  for  his  team,  and  to  lay  the  foundations  for 
a  new  barn. 

Meanwhile  these  young  people  mingled  with  and 
helped  their  neighbors.  They  nursed  the  sick,  taught 
in  the  Sunday  schools,  and  scattered  much  devotional 
and  health  literature.  They  injected  energy  into  the 
young  people  with  singing  and  good  literature  and 
friendly  visits  and  club  work.  While  not  in  school 
work,  since  there  is  a  good  school  within  half  a  mile, 
they  are  an  element  of  energy  and  cheer  that  is  leaven- 
ing the  whole  lump. 

Though  the  majority  of  the  schools  have  received 
little  money  to  aid  them,  there  is  one  form  of  help  which 


Behind  the  Back  of  Mammon  193 

the  most  of  them  are  glad  to  have  the  opportunity  of 
sharing  with  their  neighbors.  And  that  is  the  barrels 
of  second-hand  clothing  which  some  of  their  friends 
are  so  kind  as  to  ship.  There  is  probably  not  one  of  the 
groups  of  these  workers  who  do  not  daily  see,  especially 
in  the  winter,  opportunity  for  distributing  such  charity. 
And  there  are  few  of  them  whose  teachers  and  children 
are  not  often  glad  to  avail  themselves  of  the  benefits 
of  these  "  imported  goods, "  as  they  have  come  to  be 
known  among  the  self-supporters.  It  is  seldom  that  this 
practise  'will  involve  the  embarrassment  born  of  the  fol- 
lowing incident. 

The  Shamrock  School  had  several  young  boarding 
students  from  the  North,  members  of  a  wealthy  family, 
who  had  first  come  to  Madison,  and  had  been  sent  on 
as  too  immature  for  that  school.  One  week  two  or  three 
barrels  were  received  from  the  North,  and  part  of  the 
contents  were  distributed  among  the  needy  neighbors. 
It  happened,  however,  that  none  were  just  then  more 
needy  than  the  teachers,  and  they  were  very  thankful 
to  get  these  "  imported  goods." 

Sabbath  evening  they  all  appeared  in  "new"  gar- 
ments, some  of  which  were  better  than  they  would  ever 
have  been  able  to  buy.  After  worship,  as  they  gathered 
around  the  organ  for  a  song  service,  one  of  the  boys 
seemed  greatly  attracted  by  the  light  gray  suit  worn  by 
Mr.  Ore.  His  attention  became  so  fixed  that  the  rest 
noticed  it,  when  the  youngster  explained:  " Seems  to  me 
I've  seen  that  suit  before!"  No  doubt  he  had:  the  bar- 
rel had  come  from  his  father's  house.  Mr.  Ore  naturally 
felt  a  little  embarrassment,  but  the  incident  was  passed 
off  with  a  general  laugh  and  the  exhibition  of  the  new 
clothes  of  the  others. 

The  experience  is  not  all  laughter,  however;  for  one 
of  the  above  heroes  testifies,  "I  have  shed  more  tears 
over  not  being  able  to  get  the  things  for  my  own  family 
which  I  felt  they  should  have,  than  over  anything  else 
in  our  experience,"  a  feeling  that  will  be  most  fully  ap- 
13 


194  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

predated  by  the  father  who  has  a  developing  daughter 
in  her  'teens. 

When  Brother  Josephus'  Agricultural  and  Mechan- 
ical Academy  was  in  its  beginning,  the  shop  work,  on 
which  he  was  placing  his  main  dependence  for  support, 
was  at  times  very  light,  and  again  and  again  his  family, 
including  his  own  children  and  a  number  of  boarding 
students,  had  cause  to  feel  like  the  widow  of  Zarephath 
when  she  was  "  gathering  two  sticks,"  to  go  in  and  dress 
the  handful  of  meal  and  the  drop  of  oil,  "that  we  may 
eat  it  and  die." 

In  one  such  experience,  when  he  had  used  his  last 
dollar  and  was  getting  no  shop  work,  his  oldest  daughter, 
who  had  grown  into  young  womanhood  wearing  "im- 
ported goods,"  and  now  was  destitute  even  of  those, 
came  to  him  with  her  maiden's  hurt  pride  at  shabbiness. 

"Jonnie,"  he  said  to  her,  "we  are  not  here  for  our 
own  glory,  nor  to  make  money.  We  came  here  willing 
to  sacrifice.  We  are  having  a  hard  time.  I  wish  you 
might  have  these  things  you  need,  but  what  we  are  do- 
ing without  we  are  doing  without  for  Christ's  sake. 
The  Lord  will  send  them." 

But  her  patience  and  faith,  spread  out  over  many 
years,  suffered  a  momentary  lapse.  "Oh,  yes,"  she  re- 
sponded, "that's  what  you  always  say:  'Just  trust  in 
the  Lord!'  "  And  with  tears  she  went  away. 

Brother  Josephus  went  by  himself  and  prayed. 
That  night,  when  the  mail  came,  there  was  a  letter  from 
a  man  whom  he  had  never  seen,  had  not  solicited,  and 
had  not  even  written  to  for  a  very  long  time.  In  the 
letter  was  a  check  for  one  hundred  dollars,  the  sender 
saying  that  he  was  impressed  Brother  Josephus  needed 
it.  The  father  handed  the  check  to  his  daughter,  say- 
ing, "I  think  you  can  have  that  dress  now."  And  again 
she  cried,  but  with  a  different  cause  for  tears. 

One  of  the  two  or  three  schools  which  have  received 
some  little  financial  aid  from  the  general  public  is  the 
Chinkapin  Ridge  School.  Its  founders  were  two  families 


Behind  the  Back  of  Mammon  195 

from  California,  Bruce  and  Lamont.  Bruce  was  a  me- 
chanic. Lamont,  who  had  been  before  his  conversion 
a  commercial  traveler,  and  after  that  an  accountant, 
and  whose  family  in  the  old  days  could  not  live  on  less 
than  three  thousand  dollars  a  year,  came  here  to  make 
a  living  on  a  washed  and  gullied  farm,  where  he  scarcely 
sees  one  hundred  dollars  in  money  through  the  year. 
Said  he,  "We  used  to  be  interested,  years  ago,  in  send- 
ing barrels  of  clothing  into  the  South  through  our  church; 
we  never  thought  then  that  we  would  some  time  be  the 
beneficiaries  of  them." 

They  moved  into  a  log  house  one  hundred  years 
old,  to  which  they  made  an  addition  of  two  or  three 
rooms.  The  puncheon  floor  was  full  of  holes;  the  attic, 
where  they  slept  on  a  straw  tick  the  first  three  months, 
was  open  enough  to  let  three  inches  of  snow  drift  upon 
their  bed  in  a  February  snow  storm.  But  they  opened 
their  school  in  their  big  cabin  living-room,  with  its 
puncheon  floor,  their  own  children  making  the  nucleus 
of  a  group  that  finally  required  a  schoolhouse. 

In  the  spring  of  1912,  Mrs.  Lamont  went  back  East 
to  get  help  in  building  their  schoolhouse.  With  much 
effort  and  no  little  difficulty  she  secured  the  interest 
and  help  of  a  number  of  friends,  who  gave  or  pledged 
nearly  five  hundred  dollars  for  the  purpose.  The  school- 
house  was  going  up  in  excellent  form,  when  one  night 
that  winter,  as  they  were  away  attending  a  prayer-meet- 
ing in  the  neighborhood,  their  old  log  house  caught 
fire  and  burned,  with  absolutely  everything  in  it.  They 
had  nothing  left  but  the  clothes  on  their  back.  It  seemed 
a  hard  blow,  for  they  had  not  a  dish  nor  so  much  as  a 
handkerchief  left.  But  it  brought  forth  a  showing  of 
sympathy  and  appreciation  from  the  community  at 
which  they  were  surprised,  having  been  received,  when 
they  came  three  years  before,  with  open  and  sometimes 
hostile  suspicion.  One  neighbor  woman  brought  a  pair 
of  sheets,  with  apologies  for  their  poor  quality;  another 
furnished  two  plates,  another  some  steel  knives  and 


196  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

forks;  and  every  one  was  ready  with  expression  of  sym- 
pathy in  word  and  deed.  The  men  came  together  in  a 
bee  and  finished  up  the  schoolhouse  so  that  the  family 
could  move  into  it  and  live.  And  then  from  friends 
farther  away  came  other  manifestations  of  love  and  in- 
terest, until,  with  a  new  and  beautiful  little  home  and 
a  better  equipment  than  they  had  dreamed  of  getting, 
the  Laments  were  bound  to  declare  that,  like  Job,  then- 
latter  end  was  more  blessed  than  their  beginning. 

The  life  of  self-denying  devotion  to  the  good  of  others 
is  one  to  be  sought,  not  shunned.  In  the  first  place, 
it  disciplines  and  strengthens  the  powers  of  mind  and 
soul  to  meet  the  problems  which  are  inseparable  from  the 
cause  of  God.  In  the  second  place,  while  the  life  must 
always  be  one  of  sacrifice  and  self-denial,  there  is  an 
unexcelled  satisfaction  in  the  experience  of  service  to 
others,  which  finds  an  echo  in  the  appreciation  it  gains 
from  the  friends  of  God  near  by  and  far  away.  It  pays, 
from  a  double  standpoint,  to  stay  behind  the  back  of 
Mammon. 


XVI 
PREACHING  BY  HAND 

GO  YE  into  all  the  world,  and  preach  the  gospel  to 
every  creature,"  was  the  great  commission  given 
by  Christ  to  his  apostles.  And  down  through  the  ages 
has  come  sounding  the  message  to  ourselves.  But 
with  it  have  come  the  commentations  of  two  millenni- 
ums, to  the  effect  that  this  preaching  is  to  be  done  by 
word  of  mouth.  Yet  Jesus'  own  comments  and  his  ex- 
ample signify  more.  He  himself  always  prefaced  his 
preaching  with  his  practise.  He  laid  hands  on  the  sick 
and  they  recovered;  he  gave  bread  to  the  hungry,  cloth- 
ing to  the  naked,  deliverance  to  the  bound.  He  gave 
far  more  time  to  healing  than  to  talking,  and  out  of  his 
own  scanty  store  of  money  he  relieved  the  necessities 
of  the  poor. 

To  his  disciples,  then,  when  he  bade  them  preach  the 
gospel,  he  conveyed  such  an  idea  of  preaching  as  they 
had  witnessed  in  himself:  not  only  to  speak  words  of 
grace,  to  teach  the  ignorant,  but  to  minister  to  the  phys- 
ical needs  of  men.  Especially  does  he  bid  them  to  heal 
the  sick.  And  when  he  comes  in  his  kingdom,  his  test 
of  loyalty  is  whether  those  before  him  have  fed  the 
hungry,  clothed  the  naked,  visited  the  sick  and  in  prison; 
for  inasmuch  as  they  have  done  this  unto  the  least  of 
men,  even  so,  he  declares,  have  they  done  it  unto  their 
King. 

(i97) 


198  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

Now  the  feeding  of  the  hungry  may  mean  more 
than  giving  a  meal  to  a  tramp.  If  the  Christian  worker 
teaches  his  neighbor  how  to  make  a  more  abundant 
and  nourishing  dietary  from  his  own  garden  and  fields, 
is  he  not  intelligently  feeding  the  hungry?  If  he  is  able, 
through  the  industrial  training  of  his  pupils,  to  increase 
their  cash  income  from  ten  dollars  to  two  or  three  hun- 
dred dollars  a  year,  is  he  not  clothing  the  naked?  If 
he  teaches  the  community  by  example  and  personal 
help  to  build  better  houses  for  their  increased  comfort 
and  sanitation,  is  he  not  taking  the  stranger  into  shelter? 
always  understanding  that  his  motive  is  not  selfish 
gain,  but  desire  to  help  his  fellow-men.  Not  that  the 
idea  of  personal  benevolence  is  taken  away  from  the 
text,  but  it  is  meant  to  include  that  and  more;  it  is  ex- 
tended as  Christ  certainly  meant  it  to  extend,  to  em- 
brace all  the  processes  of  life  within  a  Christian  motive 
and  to  Christian  ends.  So  we  may  see  many  men  and 
women  who  will  never  thrill  audiences  with  their  elo- 
quence in  the  pulpit,  we  may  see  mechanics  and  farmers 
and  nurses  who  are  by  their  labors  coworkers  with 
evangelists  in  the  fulfilment  of  the  great  commission  — 
preaching,  not  by  tongue,  but  by  hand. 

Up  in  the  rimlands  more  than  a  Sabbath-day 's 
journey  from  Nashville,  lies  the  happy  and  somnolent 
land  of  Beulah.  Here  in  1909  came  from  the  Madison 
School  the  two  brothers  Carlson,  with  their  wives.  They 
came  without  much  else,  for  the  expense  of  getting  an 
education  had  stripped  them  of  their  small  savings, 
and  they  had  neither  money  nor  equipment. 

They  had  been  saw-mill  men,  however,  and  in  this 
wooded  country  they  believed  they  might  catch  a  toe- 
hold, and  be  of  some  use  to  the  community  while  doing 
it.  They  obtained  a  few  acres  of  wooded  ground,  a 
steep  ravine  that  was  of  no  use  to  any  one  else,  and  by 
some  means  managed  to  supply  themselves  with  a  small 
saw-mill.  They  cleared  their  own  land,  sawing  up  the 
timber,  and  also  doing  custom  work  for  the  people  about. 


Preaching  by  Hand  199 

Poverty  trod  hard  on  their  heels  in  those  days,  but 
they  had  an  ideal,  and  they  held  to  it.  Their  earliest 
home  was  a  shack  built  of  slabs,  in  no  way  better,  in 
many  ways  worse,  than  the  homes  of  the  people  about 
them;  but  it  furnished  them  shelter,  and  more  than  that, 
an  inspiration.  They  would  yet  produce  from  this 
scant  beginning  a  worthy  temple  of  Christian  living. 

They  sold  the  best  of  their  lumber,  and  with  the 
third  grade  they  built  first  a  schoolhouse,  and  after  that 
a  cottage  for  themselves,  which,  neat  and  handsome  in 
style  and  finish,  quickly  became  models  that  were  copied 
up  and  down  the  ridge.  Then  the  Carlson  brothers 
turned  over  the  property  to  a  family  of  teachers  and 
moved  fifty  miles  away  to  another  community  where 
a  school  was  just  being  established.  Here  they  set  up 
their  mill  in  a  country  in  which  are  extensive  forests 
of  hardwood,  and  developed  a  large  business.  They 
prospered  until  they  had  a  plant  worth  two  thousand 
dollars,  with  a  twenty-five  horsepower  engine,  saws, 
planing  and  siding  machines,  and  a  dry  kiln. 

Upstairs  at  one  end  of  their  mill  is  a  pretty  com- 
plete little  repair  shop.  Ingenious  and  capable  work- 
men, they  do  all  then1  own  repairing,  making  their  own 
planer  bits  and  other  parts  of  the  machinery.  In  con- 
sequence they  have  almost  no  loss  in  wear  and  tear  of 
machinery. 

In  the  winter  of  1913  their  plant  was  burned  with 
almost  total  loss,  but  they  rebuilt  and  stayed  at  then- 
post.  The  results  of  their  work  are  seen  all  through 
the  country  about  them.  Very  neat  houses  were  built 
at  the  school  by  themselves  and  their  coworkers,  which 
proved  patterns  in  architecture  and  finish  to  the  whole 
community.  Having  a  grist  mill  as  well  as  saw-mill, 
they  were  visited  by  scores  of  customers  from  the  vi- 
cinity, who  took  away  not  merely  then1  grist  less  its 
toll,  but  a  thousand  good  ideas  without  toll  except  the 
satisfaction  these  workers  have  in  seeing  the  blessing 
and  improvement  of  their  neighbors. 


2OO  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

Shortly  after  the  establishment  of  one  of  the  early 
schools,  three  of  its  workers  were  one  day  going  along 
the  road  near  their  home  when  they  found  an  old  man 
lying  unconscious  by  the  roadside.  At  first  they  thought 
him  drunk,  but  upon  examination  found  he  was  not. 
They  carried  him  to  their  cabin  and  revived  him.  He 
was  an  old  man  whose  mind  had  become  enfeebled. 
He  lived  hi  the  neighborhood  with  his  married  daughter, 
but  it  was  almost  beyond  any  one's  power  to  care  prop- 
erly for  him,  as  he  was  incompetent  to  attend  to  or  even 
to  make  known  his  most  common  wants.  That  day  he 
had  started  out,  unknown  to  any  one,  to  go  to  another 
house  in  the  vicinity,  but  had  fallen  with  a  stroke  of 
paralysis. 

The  young  men  cared  for  him  in  their  own  home  for 
several  days,  until  he  died.  This,  almost  their  first  ex- 
perience in  the  neighborhood,  gave  them  the  reputation 
of  good  Samaritans,  and  they  were  at  once  looked  to  as 
persons  to  whom  to  turn  in  time  of  need. 

Not  long  after,  as  one  of  these  young  men,  Winthrop, 
was  logging  in  the  woods  near  the  road,  a  man  came 
running  to  him,  crying  that  his  child  was  choking  to 
death.  When  he  described  the  symptoms,  Winthrop 
pronounced  it  a  case  of  worms. 

"If  there's  anything  you  can  do,"  pleaded  the  father, 
"please  come  down  at  once." 

"I'll  go,"  said  Winthrop,  and  ran  to  the  house  to 
get  some  worm  medicine  and  castor  oil.  With  one  of 
the  ladies  of  his  household  he  went  to  the  home  of  the 
child,  and  soon  gave  her  relief.  When  he  returned  to 
the  place  where  he  had  left  the  father  helplessly  crying, 
he  found  that  the  man  had  taken  up  his  work,  and, 
says  Winthrop,  "He  had  hauled  more  logs  than  a  com- 
pany ordinarily  would  have  hauled  in  that  time.  He 
had  been  a  little  bit  off  with  us,  too,  but  he  never  was 
after  that." 

Somewhat  later  still,  as  Winthrop  was  hoeing  in  his 
new  strawberry  bed,  a  little  girl  came  running  up  the 


Preaching  by  Hand  201 

road,  crying  to  him,  "  Father  is  bleeding  to  death."  He 
had  cut  his  foot,  she  said,  with  the  ax.  Mr.  Winthrop 
got  some  antiseptic  cotton,  disinfectant,  and  bandages, 
and  started  on  the  run  down  to  the  man's  house.  He 
found  him  standing  up  helplessly  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor,  the  blood  running  out  into  a  great  pool.  Winthrop 
had  him  sit  down  and  put  his  foot  up  on  a  chair,  cut  off 
his  shoe,  stopped  the  flow  of  blood,  and  washed  and  dis- 
infected the  wound.  Then  he  covered  it  with  carbolized 
vaseline  and  cotton,  which  he  bound  on  with  adhesive 
plaster,  and  bandaged  the  foot.  But,  fearing  that  the 
bone  might  have  been  cut,  he  urged  the  man  to  send  to 
town  for  the  doctor.  When  the  physician  came,  he  took 
the  bandages  off,  looked  at  the  wound,  and  pronounced 
it  all  right.  Then  he  said,  "That  fellow  has  done  it  up 
in  better  shape  than  I  have  the  appliances  to  do  it  with. 
I  wish  you  would  go  down  and  get  some  more  cotton 
and  plaster  from  him." 

Another  man  in  the  neighborhood  broke  his  leg  one 
spring,  and  Winthrop  and  Emmet  and  the  boys  went 
down  and  offered  to  put  in  his  crop  for  him.  The  old 
man  was  a  little  offish.  He  was  evidently  afraid  he 
would  be  running  a  big  bill.  But  he  had  no  one  who 
could  do  it  for  him,  and  as  they  pleasantly  insisted, 
he  let  them  go  ahead.  It  was  well  into  the  summer  be- 
fore he  was  able  to  do  much,  and  they  not  only  put  in 
his  crop,  but  regularly  tended  it  until  that  time.  Then, 
when  he  thought  he  could  manage  it  himself,  he  asked 
for  their  bill.  They  told  him  they  were  not  doing  it 
for  money,  but  because  he  was  their  neighbor  and  needed 
help,  and  that  their  bill  was  just  nothing. 

He  gave  them  his  thanks;  but  he  more  plainly  showed 
his  gratitude  later,  in  a  characteristic  way.  He  was 
one  of  the  most  influential  men  in  the  community,  a 
type  of  the  old  clan  leader  of  Scotland  transplanted 
into  America.  Some  weeks  after  he  had  gotten 
around  with  his  mended  leg,  there  came  up  into  the 
community  a  deputy  sheriff  who  was  hungering  for  some 


202  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

ready  cash.  The  Sunday  law  in  Tennessee  provides 
that  a  reward  be  given  to  the  informer  against  any  one 
convicted  of  Sunday  labor.  This  deputy  had  heard  that 
the  school  men  were  not  Sunday-keepers,  and  might 
very  likely  be  found  working  on  Sunday.  Now  Sun- 
days are  largely  employed  by  the  workers  at  this  school, 
as  at  most  of  the  others,  in  Sunday  school  work,  visit- 
ing the  sick,  distributing  literature,  etc.  But  it  is  true 
that  they  sometim.es  attended  on  Sunday  to  farm  work 
which  was  pressing,  though  avoiding  it  as  much  as  pos- 
sible, and  always  working  out  of  sight  and  hearing. 
The  deputy,  not  being  well  acquainted  with  the  neigh- 
borhood, thought  he  might  employ  this  old  man  in 
his  search,  and  so  he  came  to  him  and  proposed  to  di- 
vide the  reward  with  him  if  he  would  pilot  him  where 
he  could  see  the  school  men  at  work  on  Sunday. 

The  old  man  eyed  him  until  he  had  finished  his  pro- 
posal, and  then,  saying  not  a  word,  he  stepped  back 
within  his  door  and  took  down  his  rifle  from  the  pegs 
above.  Then,  as  he  expressed  it,  he  "  looked  into  the 
eyes  of  him  and  spake  into  the  teeth  of  him/'  saying, 
"Them  boys  are  true  men.  They've  worked  for  us  here. 
And  all  I've  got  to  say  to  you  is,  Git!"  The  fellow  got, 
and  has  never  been  back. 

This  incident  is  of  value  not  as  showing  how  Chris- 
tian service  may  be  repaid  by  protection,  for  that  is  the 
last  thing  of  which  the  Christian  worker  thinks;  but  it 
shows  what  bonds  of  sympathy  are  created  by  Chris- 
tian service,  which  may  be  used  for  the  conversion  and 
blessing  of  those  who  are  thus  drawn.  This  same  old 
man  is  now  superintendent  of  the  Sunday  school  which 
meets  in  Winthrop's  schoolhouse,  and  leader  also  of 
the  mid-week  prayer-meeting.  The  last  time  the  Visitor 
was  at  the  Pine  Knot  School,  he  met  the  old  man  on  the 
road  going  to  Winthrop's  house.  He  gave  a  hearty  greet- 
ing, and  asked  him  to  speak  to  the  neighbors  at  the  next 
meeting;  but  the  Visitor  afterwards  learned  that  his 
errand  just  then  was  not  at  all  a  religious  or  peaceable 


Preaching  by  Hand  203 

one.  At  a  recent  "wake,"  or  carousal  at  the  house  of 
a  dead  man,  he  had  been  threatened  by  his  drunken 
son-in-law  with  a  pistol,  and  he  was  now  going  to  request 
the  loan  of  Winthrop 's  buggy  to  go  down  and  swear  out 
a  warrant  for  the  miscreant.  Mr.  Winthrop  told  him 
he  might  have  the  horse  and  buggy,  but  talked  with 
him  a  little  about  the  Christian's  duty  and  privilege 
of  forgiving.  The  old  man  went  home  to  think  it  over. 
He  studied  over  it  for  twenty-four  hours,  but  the  next 
day  he  came  back  and  told  Winthrop  he  would  not  need 
the  buggy  now;  he  had  gained  the  victory  over  himself ; 
and  though  his  son-in-law  had  drawn  a  gun  on  him  — 
that  almost  unforgivable  offense  in  the  hills  —  he  would 
forgive  him.  That  night  was  prayer-meeting  night, 
and  the  clan  leader,  big,  bony,  white-haired,  leonine, 
had  a  glowing  face  as  he  led  his  fellows  in  prayer  and 
testimony.  The  leaven  was  working. 

The  "ministry  of  the  word"  of  most  value  is  that 
ministry  of  the  Word  which  was  made  flesh  and  dwelt 
among  us,  going  about  doing  good,  and  healing  all  that 
were  possessed  of  the  devil.  Preaching  that  is  unaccom- 
panied by  works  of  faith  and  helpfulness  is  not  the 
kind  of  preaching  that  Christ  did.  The  proclamation 
of  the  truth  by  oral  preaching  is  indeed  of  value,  but  it 
is  of  value  only  when  it  has  the  power  of  the  Word 
within  it;  and  that  power  is  the  power  to  minister  to 
men. 

"Our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  came  to  this  world  as  the 
unwearied  servant  of  man's  necessity";  and  when  his 
followers  take  the  same  position,  there  will  be  power 
in  the  word  they  have  to  speak;  they  will  be  able  to  speak 
as  those  having  authority,  and  not  as  the  scribes  and 
Pharisees. 

"Nothing  will  so  arouse  a  self-sacrificing  zeal  and 
broaden  and  strengthen  the  character  as  to  engage  in 
work  for  others.  Many  professed  Christians,  hi  seeking 
church  relationship,  think  only  of  themselves.  They 
wish  to  enjoy  church  fellowship  and  pastoral  care.  They 


2O4  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

become  members  of  large  and  prosperous  churches, 
and  are  content  to  do  little  for  others.  In  this  way  they 
are  robbing  themselves  of  the  most  precious  blessings. 
Many  would  be  greatly  benefitted  by  sacrificing  their 
pleasant,  ease-conducing  associations.  They  need  to 
go  where  their  energies  will  be  called  out  in  Christian 
work,  and  they  can  learn  to  bear  responsibilities. 

"  Trees  that  are  crowded  closely  together  do  not 
grow  healthfully  and  sturdily.  The  gardener  transplants 
them  that  they  may  have  room  to  develop.  A  similar 
work  would  benefit  many  of  the  members  of  large 
churches.  They  need  to  be  placed  where  their  energies 
will  be  called  forth  in  active  Christian  effort.  They  are 
losing  their  spiritual  life,  becoming  dwarfed  and  inef- 
ficient, for  want  of  self-sacrificing  labor  for  others. 
Transplanted  to  some  missionary  field,  they  would  grow 
strong  and  vigorous. 

"But  none  need  wait  until  called  to  some  distant 
field  before  beginning  to  help  others.  Doors  of  service 
are  open  everywhere.  All  around  us  are  those  who  need 
our  help.  The  widow,  the  orphan,  the  sick  and  the 
dying,  the  heart-sick,  the  discouraged,  the  ignorant, 
and  the  outcast,  are  on  every  hand. 

"We  should  feel  it  our  special  duty  to  work  for  those 
living  hi  our  neighborhood.  Study  how  you  can  best 
help  those  who  take  no  interest  in  religious  things.  As 
you  visit  your  friends  and  neighbors,  show  an  interest 
in  their  spiritual  as  well  as  in  their  temporal  welfare. 
Speak  to  them  of  Christ  as  a  sin-pardoning  Saviour. 
Invite  your  neighbors  to  your  home,  and  read  with  them 
from  the  precious  Bible  and  from  books  that  explain 
its  truths.  Invite  them  to  unite  with  you  in  song  and 
prayer.  In  these  little  gatherings,  Christ  himself  will 
be  present,  as  he  has  promised,  and  hearts  will  be  touched 
by  his  grace. 

"Church-members  should  educate  themselves  to  do 
this  work.  This  is  just  as  essential  as  to  save  the  be- 
nighted souls  in  foreign  countries.  While  some  feel  the 


Preaching  by  Hand  205 

burden  for  souls  afar  off,  let  the  many  who  are  at  home 
feel  the  burden  of  precious  souls  who  are  around  them, 
and  work  just  as  diligently  for  their  salvation. 

"Many  regret  that  they  are  living  a  narrow  life. 
They  themselves  can  make  their  lives  broad  and  influen- 
tial if  they  will.  Those  who  love  Jesus  with  heart  and 
mind  and  soul,  and  their  neighbor  as  themselves,  have 
a  wide  field  in  which  to  use  their  ability  and  influence. 

"Let  none  pass  by  little  opportunities,  to  look  for 
larger  work.  You  might  do  successfully  the  small  work, 
but  fail  utterly  in  attempting  the  larger  work  and  fall 
into  discouragement.  It  is  by  doing  with  your  might 
what  you  find  to  do  that  you  will  develop  aptitude  for 
larger  work.  It  is  by  slighting  the  daily  opportunities, 
by  neglecting  the  little  things  right  at  hand,  that  so  many 
become  fruitless  and  withered. 

"Do  not  depend  upon  human  aid.  Look  beyond 
human  beings,  to  the  One  appointed  by  God  to  bear 
our  griefs,  to  carry  our  sorrows,  and  to  supply  our  ne- 
cessities. Taking  God  at  his  word,  make  a  beginning 
wherever  you  find  work  to  do,  and  move  forward  with 
unfaltering  faith.  It  is  faith  in  Christ's  presence  that 
gives  strength  and  steadfastness.  Work  with  unselfish 
interest,  with  painstaking  effort,  with  persevering  en- 
ergy. 

"In  fields  where  the  conditions  are  so  objectionable 
and  disheartening  that  many  are  unwilling  to  go  to  them, 
remarkable  changes  have  been  wrought  by  the  efforts 
of  self-sacrificing  workers.  Patiently  and  perse veringly 
they  labored,  not  relying  upon  human  power,  but  upon 
God,  and  his  grace  sustained  them.  The  amount  of  good 
thus  accomplished  will  never  be  known  in  this  world, 
but  blessed  results  will  be  seen  in  the  great  hereafter." 

1  Mrs.  B.  G.  White,  Ministry  of  Healing,  pp.  i,  151-154. 


XVII 
SERMONS  IN  SOIL 

THE  greater  number  of  these  rural-school  workers  in 
the  South  look  to  the  soil  for  a  livelihood,  and  this 
will  be  the  case  with  the  large  majority  who  come  in 
the  future.  This  is  as  it  should  be.  Families  with  chil- 
dren should  not  go  to  the  cities.  The  natural  conditions 
of  life  are  hi  the  country,  and  there  the  children  should 
grow  up  into  Christian  life  in  the  midst  of  the  handi- 
work of  God. 

Moreover,  the  farm  is  the  surest  means  of  support. 
The  whole  structure  of  the  economic  world  rests  upon 
the  farm.  The  world  is  fed  and  clothed,  and  in  great 
part  provided  with  shelter  and  warmth,  by  the  farmer. 
As  a  forceful  writer  puts  it:  "We  realize  (we  farmers) 
that  we  are  the  foundation:  we  connect  human  life  with 
earth.  We  dig  and  plant  and  produce,  and  having  eaten 
at  the  first  table  ourselves,  we  pass  what  is  left  to  the 
bankers  and  millionaires.  Did  you  ever  think,  stranger, 
that  the  most  of  the  wars  of  the  world  have  been  fought 
for  the  control  of  the  farmer's  second  table?  Have  you 
thought  that  the  surplus  of  wheat  and  corn  and  cotton 
is  what  the  railroads  are  struggling  to  carry?  Upon  our 
surplus  run  all  the  factories  and  mills;  a  little  of  it  gath- 
ered in  cash  makes  a  millionaire.  But  we  farmers,  we  sit 
back  comfortably  after  dinner,  and  joke  with  our  wives 
and  play  with  our  babies,  and  let  all  the  rest  of  you 
(206) 


Sermons  in  Soil  207 

fight  for  the  crumbs  that  fall  from  our  abundant  tables. 
If  once  we  really  cared  and  got  up  and  shook  ourselves, 
and  said  to  the  maid:  'Here,  child,  don't  waste  the 
crusts:  gather  'em  up  and  tomorrow  we'll  have  a  cot- 
tage pudding/  where  in  the  world  would  all  the  mil- 
lionaires be?  .  .  .  Moreover,  think  of  the  position 
of  the  millionaire.  He  spends  his  time  playing  not 
with  life,  but  with  the  symbols  of  life,  whether  cash  or 
houses.  Any  day  the  symbols  may  change:  a  little  war 
may  happen  along,  there  may  be  a  defective  flue  or  a 
western  breeze,  or  even  a  panic  because  the  farmers 
aren't  scattering  as  many  crumbs  as  usual  (they  call 
it  crop  failure,  but  I've  noticed  that  the  farmers  still 
continue  to  have  plenty  to  eat),  and  then  what  happens 
to  your  millionaire?  Not  knowing  how  to  produce 
anything  himself,  he  would  starve  to  death  if  there  were 
not  always,  somewhere,  a  farmer  to  take  him  up  to  the 
table."  l 

If  there  is  any  place  where  the  Christian  worker 
may  be  able  to  weather  a  storm,  either  financial  or  re- 
ligious, it  is  on  the  soil.  There  he  may,  indeed,  suffer 
privation,  but  so  long  as  God's  bounty  continues,  he 
cannot  be  utterly  crushed  out.  Panics,  bank  failures, 
strikes,  riots,  boycotts,  may  refuse  him  cooperation  in 
exchange  of  products,  may  deprive  him  of  ready  cash 
with  which  he  might  buy  silk  dresses  and  oranges,  but 
he  can  raise  his  own  wool  and  corn  and  potatoes,  and  if 
necessity  demands,  can  convert  his  cotton  or  wool  or 
skins  into  serviceable  garments.  The  last  stronghold 
of  independence  that  will  remain  to  be  taken  is  the  farm. 
The  last  troubles  in  this  earth's  history  may,  indeed  will, 
drive  God's  people  to  the  caves  and  deserts  and  swamps, 
but  for  long  before  that  culmination  comes,  they  will 
find  refuge  from  the  common  woes  of  a  distracted,  cha- 
otic world,  on  the  ground  where  God  placed  the  feet  of 
their  first  parents. 

But  far  more  than  the  mere  making  of  a  living, 

Grayson,  Adventures  in  Contentment,  pp.  115,  116. 


2o8  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

the  soil,  with  its  products,  is  to  be  the  medium  of  an  im- 
portant education.  "  There  are  lessons  that  our  chil- 
dren need  to  learn.  To  the  little  child,  not  yet  capable 
of  learning  from  the  printed  page  or  of  being  introduced 
to  the  routine  of  the  schoolroom,  nature  presents  an 
unfailing  source  of  instruction  and  delight.  The  heart 
not  yet  hardened  by  contact  with  evil  is  quick  to  recog- 
nize the  Presence  that  pervades  all  created  things.  The 
ear  as  yet  undulled  by  the  world's  clamor  is  attentive 
to  the  Voice  that  speaks  through  nature's  utterances. 
And  for  those  of  older  years,  needing  continually  its 
silent  reminders  of  the  spiritual  and  eternal,  nature's 
teaching  will  be  no  less  a  source  of  pleasure  and  of  in- 
struction. As  the  dwellers  in  Eden  learned  from  nature's 
pages,  as  Moses  discerned  God's  handwriting  on  the 
Arabian  plains  and  mountains,  and  the  child  Jesus  on 
the  hillsides  of  Nazareth,  so  the  children  of  today  may 
learn  of  him.  The  unseen  is  illustrated  by  the  seen.  On 
everything  upon  the  earth  from  the  loftiest  tree  of  the 
forest  to  the  lichen  that  clings  to  the  rock,  from  the 
boundless  ocean  to  the  tiniest  shell  on  the  shore,  they 
may  behold  the  image  and  superscription  of  God." 
"  Patient,  painstaking  effort  needs  to  be  made  for 
the  encouragement  and  uplifting  of  the  surrounding 
communities,  and  for  their  education  in  industrial  and 
sanitary  lines.  The  school  and  all  its  surroundings 
should  be  object-lessons,  teaching  the  ways  of  improve- 
ment, and  appealing  to  the  people  for  reform,  so  that 
taste,  industry,  and  refinement  may  take  the  place  of 
coarseness,  uncleanliness,  disorder,  ignorance,  and  sin. 
Even  the  poorest  can  improve  their  surroundings  by 
rising  early  and  working  diligently.  By  our  lives  and  ex- 
ample we  can  help  others  to  discern  that  which  is  re- 
pulsive in  their  character  or  about  their  premises,  and 
with  Christian  courtesy  we  may  encourage  improve- 
ment." 1 


E.  G.  White,  Education,  p.  100;  Testimonies  for  the  Church, 
VoL  VI,  p.  188. 


Sermons  in  Soil  209 

It  is  not  only  the  farmer 's  neighbors,  but  the  farmer 
himself,  who  is  to  be  taught.  Indeed,  it  is  most  neces- 
sary for  any  farmer  entering  a  new  country  to  learn 
all  he  can  of  local  conditions  from  his  neighbors.  The 
less  time  it  takes  him  to  make  his  living,  the  more  time 
can  he  find  for  Christian  work  among  them.  And  not 
only  his  financial  success,  not  only  his  missionary  ac- 
tivities, but  his  own  spiritual  growth,  is  dependent  in 
a  degree  upon  his  successful  farming.  If,  because  of 
poor  crops,  he  is  overworked  and  worried,  he  is  in  no 
proper  frame  of  mind  to  listen  to  God  or  to  speak  for 
God.  The  spiritual  lessons  which  the  Saviour  taught 
us  to  find  in  seed-sowing  and  harvest,  are  belied  by  poor 
farming.  A  thin,  sickly,  straggling  field  of  grain  or 
vegetables  is  a  poor  figure  for  the  kingdom  of  God, 
as  is  also  a  batch  of  sour  bread.  A  sound,  scientific, 
intelligent  understanding  of  the  laws  of  God  in  nature, 
and  how  to  control  and  use  their  operation,  is  an  ex- 
cellent basis  for  sound  theology. 

One  whose  experience  is  typical  of  many  thus  ac- 
knowledges it:  "I  made  an  astounding  series  of  mistakes 
when  I  first  tried  to  teach  my  neighbors  how  to  farm. 
In  the  first  place,  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  the  idea 
that  I  had  to  plow  around  the  hills.  I  would  not  do  it; 
I  ran  my  rows  the  way  I  wanted  to,  and  that  was,  straight. 
The  result  was  that  the  most  of  my  soil  washed  off  the 
hillsides  into  the  hollows. 

"My  second  mistake  was  to  plant  my  crops  too 
thick.  I  expected  two  or  three  stalks  of  corn  to  mature 
in  a  hill,  j  ust  as  they  used  to  in  my  native  State.  I  thought 
it  was  just  a  notion  that  only  one  stalk  could  grow  in  a 
hill.  So  I  planted  my  corn  just  as  I  wanted  to,  with  the 
result  that  I  got  plenty  of  leaves,  but  little  or  no  grain. 

"My  farm  is  in  a  country  that  practises  'terracing.' 
I  did  not  believe  in  terracing,  and  at  first  plowed  right 
through  the  ridges.  I  spent  much  money  for  fertilizer, 
only  to  see  it  washed  away.  Then  I  tried  to  ditch  and 
terrace  for  myself,  but  not  understanding  how,  I  only 
14 


2io  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

made  bad  matters  worse.  Finally,  the  fourth  year,  I 
employed  a  neighbor  who  knew  what  he  was  about, 
and  we  laid  the  hills  off  on  a  proper  system  of  terraces. 
It  took  me  about  four  years  to  learn  that  although  I  had 
been  considered  a  successful  farmer  in  the  North,  I  was 
not  yet  fitted  to  be  a  teacher  of  farming  under  Southern 
conditions.  Now,  my  neighbors  and  I  consult  freely  to- 
gether over  plans  and  methods.  I  am  able  to  teach  as 
well  as  to  learn,  and  we  all  recognize  that  there  is  much 
for  us  yet  to  learn  together." 

Another,  who  is  foremost  as  an  authority  on  agri- 
culture among  the  self-supporting  workers,  and  who  has 
been  employed  by  the  State  to  teach  the  subject  in  some 
of  its  teachers'  institutes,  says: 

"  Every  successful  farmer  recognizes  that  he  must 
modify  his  methods  of  soil  cultivation  to  suit  climatic 
conditions.  Many  of  the  methods  that  make  for  suc- 
cessful farming  in  one  section  cannot  be  followed  in  an- 
other. For  instance,  in  the  North  the  soil  is  left  to  weather 
during  the  winter,  locked  up  with  frost  and  snow.  In 
the  South,  if  that  method  is  followed,  it  results,  because 
of  open  weather,  in  the  leaching  and  evaporating  of  a 
large  portion  of  the  most  valuable  plant  foods  during 
the  winter.  An  uncultivated  soil  in  the  South  during 
the  winter  may  mean  the  loss  of  twenty-one  per  cent  of 
the  whole  year's  heat  units,  and  of  a  large  amount  of 
available  nitrogen,  the  most  costly  of  plant  foods.  South- 
ern farming  needs  to  be  studied  from  the  standpoint 
of  the  South,  and  not  subjected  empirically  to  Northern 
methods." 

Not  every  one,  of  course,  can  have  the  advantage 
of  even  a  short  course  in  scientific  agriculture,  but  re- 
liable scientific  instruction  is  now  so  common  in  books, 
in  bulletins,  and  through  the  personal  help  of  repre- 
sentatives of  State  and  federal  agricultural  bureaus, 
that  no  man  has  the  excuse  that  he  cannot  learn.  Sanc- 
tified common  sense,  as  well  as  practical  experience 


Sermons  in  Soil  211 

and  wide-awake  interest  in  the  new,  will  do  wonders 
for  the  missionary  farmer. 

Take  the  farm  at  the  Shamrock  School.  The  main 
part  of  this  farm  lies  up  on  a  tongue  of  land  that  is 
bounded  below  by  brooks  or  "  branches."  When  the 
workers  went  there,  that  old  gray  hill  lay  up  bare  to 
the  sun,  like  the  scraped  dry  head  of  a  tonsured  monk. 
Around  the  house  was  a  fringe  of  weeds  and  sassafras 
shoots,  but  the  fields  resisted  even  the  sassafras.  They 
went  there  with  almost  nothing,  having  put  what  lit- 
tle money  they  had  into  buying  the  place.  They  grubbed 
the  brush,  and  they  plowed  and  harrowed  the  fields,  but 
they  found  them  too  poor  to  grow  even  legumes.  They 
tried  cow  peas,  and  then  they  tried  soy  beans.  They 
put  them  into  the  ground,  and  on  some  of  their  land  they 
got  back  not  even  as  much  as  the  seed.  Some  of  the 
beans  sprouted,  grew  an  inch  or  two  high,  and  then  died. 
They  decided  that  it  was  cheaper  to  work  out  and  earn 
money  to  live  on,  and  turn  their  crops  under  for  fertilizer. 
They  succeeded  in  growing  some  rye,  and  turned  it  un- 
der; then  soy  beans  gave  a  little  more  promise,  and  they 
turned  that  crop  under;  rye  again  in  the  winter,  fol- 
lowed with  corn,  which  made  some  forage,  but  was  also 
partly  turned  under.  Not  all  their  land  was  so  poor  as 
this,  however;  so  that  they  did  get  some  returns,  but  the 
most  of  it  was  poor  enough.  Today,  by  feeding  then-  soil, 
they  have  raised  the  productivity  of  some  of  their  land 
to  forty  bushels  of  corn  to  the  acre,  and  they  get  very 
fair  crops  of  legumes  and  vegetables.  They  have  used 
very  little  commercial  fertilizer,  but  realize  that  their 
land  needs  liming.  They  have  a  splendid  little  vine- 
yard and  a  good  peach  orchard.  Their  milch  cows, 
though  few  in  number,  have  played  an  important  part 
in  increasing  the  fertility  of  the  land,  for  the  manure 
has  been  carefully  conserved  and  used  where  it  would 
have  the  most  telling  effect.  The  transformation  of 
that  old  gray  hill  in  the  last  six  years  has  been  a  marvel 
not  only  to  the  neighborhood,  but  to  the  friends  who 


212  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

have  visited  these  brethren.  But  it  has  meant  hard, 
grinding  toil,  as  well  as  careful  thought  and  planning. 
Many  a  time  they  have  come  to  close  places  for  both 
food  and  clothing,  but  cow  peas  and  wild  blackberries 
have  never  entirely  failed,  and  " imported  goods"  have 
been  the  mainstay  in  clothing. 

A  very  important  side  industry  at  this  school  is  the 
cannery,  which  was  opened  four  years  after  the  school 
began.  It  was  not  merely  an  economic  reason,  it  was 
chiefly  an  educational  idea,  that  started  the  cannery. 
Tobacco  is  the  chief  money  crop  in  that  part  of  Ten- 
nessee, and  all  the  mission  schools  in  that  section  have 
struck  at  the  base  of  the  tobacco  habit  by  teaching 
against  the  culture  of  tobacco.  Two  of  them,  studying 
how  to  strike  a  practical  blow  at  the  business,  determined 
to  introduce  other  crops.  At  one,  the  substitution  of 
the  strawberry  and  potato  crops  for  tobacco  was  begun, 
and  the  workers  demonstrated  to  their  friends  both  in 
the  school  and  in  the  field,  that  there  was  more  money 
actually  to  be  made  by  these  crops  than  by  tobacco. 
At  the  other  school,  the  raising  of  garden  produce  —  to- 
matoes, beans,  sugar  corn,  etc. —  was  advocated,  and, 
first  for  themselves  and  then  for  their  neighbors,  the 
school-men  began  canning  such  products.  They  estab- 
lished a  town  market  for  their  own  produce,  and  then 
offered  to  can  such  things  for  then-  neighbors,  if  they 
would  raise  them,  and  to  find  a  market  for  all  they  de- 
sired to  sell. 

The  cannery  at  the  Shamrock  School  became  a 
very  considerable  industry,  employing  not  only  the 
children  and  several  of  the  older  people  in  the  school, 
but  a  number  of  hands  from  the  neighborhood.  A  small 
but  neat  building,  with  canning  apparatus  on  the  ground 
floor  and  storeroom  overhead,  was  erected.  The  ut- 
most neatness  and  cleanliness  was  required  in  the  small 
establishment.  No  tobacco-chewing  or  snuff-dipping  was 
allowed,  the  workers  must  scrub  their  hands  and  faces, 
their  hair  must  be  combed,  and  then  they  were  arrayed 


Sermons  in  Soil  213 

in  enveloping  white  caps  and  aprons,  with  pocket  for 
handkerchief  to  wipe  away  perspiration.  They  were 
made  to  feel  that  the  cannery  stood  for  something  besides 
money-making:  it  exemplified  the  virtues  of  order  and 
cleanliness,  inside  and  out.  At  first  the  customers  were 
indifferent  to  the  condition  in  which  they  brought  their 
produce,  but  they  soon  learned  to  sort  it  carefully  and 
to  bring  only  sound  and  properly  prepared  material. 
The  hands  were  paid  by  the  piece,  and  custom  work 
was  done  on  the  same  basis.  New  customers  appeared 
every  season.  A  neighbor  who  had  ventured  to  plant 
a  surplus  of  Kentucky  Wonder  beans  came  bringing 
them,  thinking  to  try  the  canner. 

"  You're  sure  they'll  keep?"  he  inquired  dubiously. 

"O  yes;  we  have  tested  them  three  seasons  now." 

"How  many  beans  will  it  take  for  a  mess  for  two  of 
us?"  was  his  next  question. 

"You  will  have  enough  for  dinner  and  some  to  warm 
over  for  supper,  out  of  one  of  these  cans,"  was  the  very 
exact  information  given  him. 

"Well,  then,"  he  concluded,  "I  want  some.  It'll 
be  mighty  fine  to  have  something  besides  hog  and 
hominy  this  winter." 

The  little  cannery  had  a  capacity,  when  running  full, 
of  500  cans  a  day.  In  1912,  2,900  quarts  were  canned 
for  the  neighbors,  and  the  patronage  grew.  But  it 
was  the  endeavor  of  the  Shamrock  teachers  to  induce 
them  to  can  for  themselves,  with  small  outfits.  And 
some  began  to  do  it.  Thus  they  created  a  business 
each  for  himself,  which  displaced  the  tobacco  business, 
and  still  with  no  danger  of  overstocking  the  market  with 
canned  goods. 

In  the  neighborhood  of  both  the  schools  mentioned, 
the  lure  has  worked  well.  Tobacco-raising  is  a  laborious 
and  disagreeable  task.  No  plant  is  so  selfish  as  tobacco. 
It  makes  great  demands  upon  the  soil,  and  not  a  weed 
must  be  suffered  to  grow  in  the  tobacco  field  except 
itself.  Then  comes  its  enemy,  the  tobacco  worm,  which 


214  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

is  followed  assiduously  from  end  to  end  of  the  field, 
searched  out  on  the  plants,  and  usually  smashed  between 
the  thumb  and  forefinger.  This  work  falls  to  the  lot  of 
the  children,  and  the  children  hate  it.  Oftentimes  a 
child  will  appear  in  the  school  with  swollen  face  and  in- 
flamed eyes  from  bending  over  the  poisonous  plant. 

"  What's  the  matter?" 

"Oh,  been  working  in  that  old  tobacco  patch.  Wish 
tobacco  had  never  been  born,"  is  the  reply.  Where 
the  cultivation  of  tobacco  depends  chiefly  upon  white 
labor,  which  means  the  farmer  and  his  children,  the  crop 
is  heartily  detested;  but  still  the  farmer  continues  to 
raise  it,  because  he  knows  of  nothing  else  which  will 
have  the  ready  and  profitable  sale  that  tobacco  has. 
When  it  is  demonstrated  to  him  that  there  are  other 
crops  which  cost  less  in  soil  fertility  and  less  in  labor, 
and  bring  equal  or  greater  money  returns,  he  begins, 
slowly  perhaps,  but  surely,  to  turn  away  from  tobacco. 
Listen  to  a  report  of  how  the  matter  was  taken  up  in 
one  of  the  rimland  schools: 

"Now  with  our  children  in  the  school,"  said  the 
teacher,  "I  take  up  the  first  elements  that  are  in  the  soil, 
those  elements  that  are  especially  short  in  this  country, 
which  are  nitrogen,  lime,  phosphorus,  and,  in  a  less  degree, 
potash.  We  put  it  up  on  a  chart  right  back  here  on  the 
wall.  We  compare  two  crops:  one,  Irish  potatoes,  per- 
haps; the  other  tobacco.  We  show  what  elements  each 
of  these  plants  takes  from  the  soil,  and  they  see  that 
tobacco  is  taking  most  liberally  just  those  elements  of 
which  we  have  the  least,  while  potatoes  take  but  little 
of  those  elements.  It  takes  more  potash  to  build  up  a 
thousand  pounds  of  tobacco  than  it  does  for  three  thou- 
sand pounds  of  wheat.  It  takes  more  potash  to  build 
up  a  thousand  pounds  of  tobacco  than  it  takes  to  build 
up  five  or  ten  thousand  pounds  of  Irish  potatoes.  So 
the  continual  raising  of  tobacco  on  these  hill  lands  has 
not  only  depleted  them  of  humus,  but  has  so  lowered 
them  in  their  supply  of  these  elements  that  the  farmers 


Sermons  in  Soil  215 

find  it  necessary,  in  order  to  get  a  crop  of  anything, 
to  supply  these  elements  at  the  rate  of  two  to  four 
hundred  pounds  of  fertilizer  per  acre.  At  the  high  price 
of  commercial  fertilizers,  the  cost  of  labor,  and  the  ex- 
pense of  marketing,  tobacco  is  the  most  expensive  crop 
that  can  be  grown.  To  get  the  farmer  and  the  farmer's 
boy  and  the  farmer's  girl  to  see  this,  we  take  these  dif- 
ferent crops  and  put  them  on  the  board  and  show  what 
they  cost  in  these  elements,  figuring  each  at  the  market 
price;  we  figure  in  the  time  of  the  grower  and  the  cost 
of  the  marketing.  We  have  these  boys  and  girls  do  this 
themselves,  from  the  statistics  which  we  give  them. 
And  you  never  saw  boys  and  girls  more  interested. 
They  will  stay  in  at  recess  figuring  on  these  things,  and 
come  around  to  us  to  get  a  bit  more  information  on  this 
and  on  that.  And  the  conclusion  they  reach — you  can 
see  what  it  is.  They  discover  that  from  an  economic 
standpoint  they  cannot  afford  to  raise  tobacco,  and  they 
see  the  desirability  of  raising  a  crop  that  will  furnish 
food  for  them. 

"Now  this  nas  its  effect  especially  on  the  younger 
people.  The  old  farmers  are  dubious,  when  they  hear 
these  things  through  their  children  or  direct  from  us; 
they  shake  their  heads  and  go  on  the  same  old  way. 
But  among  the  younger  men  there  comes  evidence  of  a 
break.  One  young  man  of  our  neighborhood  just  came 
to  me  this  week,  and  said,  '  I  believe  we  have  got  to  stop 
raising  this  tobacco,  though  it  has  been  our  only  money 
crop.  It  would  be  the  best  thing  for  this  country  that 
could  happen  if  we  would  stop  raising  tobacco.  And/ 
he  said,  'I  am  going  to  try  a  good  big  piece  in  Irish  po- 
tatoes this  year,  and  see  what  I  do.' 

"Then  in  the  physiology  class  we  have  our  next 
chance.  This  study  of  statistics  which  they  have  worked 
out  themselves,  as  to  the  economic  value  of  tobacco 
as  compared  with  other  crops,  has  impressed  them, 
and  they  are  ready  for  something  more.  We  show 
the  effects  of  tobacco  on  the  lungs,  the  throat,  the  heart, 


216  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

the  membrane  of  the  mouth,  the  blood,  and  the  brain, 
showing  how  it  stops  the  energy  of  the  child,  making 
him  indolent  and  lazy,  making  him  careless,  making 
him  rude.  Do  you  know  it  makes  them  rude?  I  made 
a  point  on  that.  To  my  class  over  in  the  county  normal, 
I  put  this  thing:  'Have  you  noticed  and  compared 
those  of  your  acquaintance  who  use  tobacco,  and  those 
who  do  not?  Who  is  stunted,  and  who  is  well  developed? 
Is  the  color  of  the  skin  rosy  or  sallow?  How  are  the  teeth? 
Is  the  eye  bright  or  not?  What  are  the  manners,  slouchy 
and  sloven,  or  well-poised  and  civil?  How  does  the  boy 
do  in  his  studies?'  I  had  them  give  the  names  of  boys. 
Every  one  of  them  using  tobacco  fell  down  on  the  de- 
sirable attributes.  It  astonished  the  class  to  have  their 
own  knowledge  thus  brought  before  them. 

"So  there  is  a  lever  to  help  pry  with  in  the  physi- 
ology class.  Tea  and  coffee  are  taken  up  in  this  connec- 
tion, and  their  effects  as  well  as  the  effects  of  alcohol 
are  taken  up.  I  have  done  this  in  the  normal  school. 
I  have  said  to  them,  'You  have  a  great  campaign  on 
against  alcohol,  yet  you  are  poisoning  yourselves  with 
tea  and  coffee  and  tobacco,  which  are  as  deadly  as  ar- 
senic or  opium  or  alcohol/ 

"This  combination  of  the  study  of  agriculture  and 
physiology  on  the  tobacco  question  has  affected  in  a 
very  strong  way  many  of  the  serious-minded  students. 
Many  of  them  have  ceased  drinking  coffee  and  tea, 
boys  have  quit  the  tobacco  habit,  and  some  grown  men 
and  women  who  have  attended  these  lectures  have  also 
put  it  away,  and  in  their  fight  on  this  habit  have  come 
to  me  repeatedly,  asking  me  for  help  and  advice. 

"A  few  days  ago  a  young  woman,  a  teacher,  came 
to  me  and  asked,  'What  can  a  person  do  who  has  used 
tobacco  for  thirty  years,  to  make  it  easier  to  quit  the 
habit?'  She  and  her  husband  had  been  attending  the 
lectures.  I  had  not  noticed  any  apparent  effect  of  the 
studies  on  the  class;  that  is,  no  break  in  habit  or  ap- 


iE,    LEFT  HIS  MOUKTAI1N 


AND  WE/NT 
TO  THE  SCHOOL, 


AND  LEARNED 
TO  BUILD  THIS 


At  Cowee  Mountain  School,  North  Carolina. 

Through  the  study  of  the  work  his  hands  performed,  he  was  to  learn 
higher  and  higher  truth."     Page  217. 


Sermons  in  Soil  217 

pearance.  And  I  said  to  her,  'Why,  I  don't  know  of  any 
such  case.  Where  is  there  any  such  person?' 

"And  she  said,  'Well,  here  is  one.  That  is  my  case. 
And  my  husband  is  another/ 

"I  said,  'When  did  you  begin  to  leave  it  off?' 

"She  said,  'After  your  first  lecture.  We  see  what 
it  means,  and  we  made  up  our  minds  not  to  be  slaves 
any  longer.  And  we  are  still  determined.  But  if  you 
know  of  anything  which  will  help  my  husband,  I  wish 
you  would  tell  me  —  something  that  will  stop  the  ter- 
rible pain  in  the  head,  and  the  nervousness.  Isn't 
there  anything  you  can  tell  me  that  will  make  it  easier 
for  him?' 

"Now  that  was  a  heart-touching  thing.  They  had 
heard  the  truth,  and  without  any  ado,  any  talk,  any  an- 
nouncement of  it,  they  started  out  to  obey  the  truth, 
and  they  struggled  on  with  it  for  three  weeks  without 
saying  anything.  She  had  stopped  using  tea  and  coffee, 
and  he  had  stopped  using  tobacco.  And  now  all  they 
wanted  to  know  was  if  there  was  any  help  for  them. 
There  was  no  question  of  turning  back,  but  there  was 
a  cry  from  overtaxed  nerves  and  will,  a  cry  for  help 
from  some  one  who  had  the  truth.  And  that,  my  breth- 
ren, was  an  opening  for  more  truth." 

But  is  there  any  teaching  of  vital  truth  in  all  this 
work?  There  is,  indeed!  It  has  become  the  habit  of 
modern  Christianity  to  regard  truth  too  much  in  the 
abstract.  The  next  natural  step  is  to  regard  truth, 
the  abstract,  as  unimportant.  It  was  not  so  with  the 
Christianity  of  Christ  and  the  apostles.  The  healing 
of  the  sick  went  on  with  the  telling  of  principles  of  truth; 
the  life  was  reformed  as  the  mind  was  instructed.  The 
salvation  of  Christ  meant  higher  living,  better  methods, 
greater  life  and  power. 

God  makes  truth  concrete.  He  set  man  in  a  garden 
home  at  the  first,  to  dress  and  to  keep  it.  And  through 
the  study  of  the  work  his  hands  performed,  and  the 
objects  with  which  all  his  senses  dealt,  he  was  to  learn 


218  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

higher  and  higher  truth.  "The  system  of  education 
instituted  at  the  beginning  of  the  world,  was  to  be  a 
model  for  man  throughout  all  after-  time/  '  and  even 
"  under  changed  conditions,  true  education  is  still  con- 
formed to  the  Creator's  plan,  the  plan  of  the  Eden 
school."1 

It  is  of  no  value  to  a  man  that  he  be  induced  to 
subscribe  to  a  dogma  of  faith,  if  it  have  no  concrete 
meaning  in  his  life.  The  best  method  of  instruction  is 
to  reveal  the  doctrine  by  a  practical  application  in  life. 
It  is  upon  this  basis  that  the  rural  mission  schools  are 
endeavoring  to  proclaim  the  truth,  and  there  is  this 
commendation  for  them:  "In  the  work  being  done  at 
the  training  school  for  home  and  foreign  missionary 
teachers  in  Madison,  Tennessee,  and  in  the  small  schools 
established  by  the  teachers  who  have  gone  forth  from 
Madison,  we  have  an  illustration  of  a  way  in  which  the 
message  should  be  carried.  .  .  .  Let  us  strengthen 
this  company  to  continue  the  good  work  in  which  they 
are  engaged,  and  labor  to  encourage  others  to  do  a 
similar  work.  Then  the  light  of  truth  will  be  carried 
in  a  simple  and  effective  way,  and  a  great  work  will  be  ac- 
complished for  the  Master  in  a  short  time."2 


E.  G.  White,  Education,  pp.  20,  30. 
'Mrs.  E.  G.  White,  MS.,  January  6,  1908. 


Ittodfott 


"How  best  to  accomplish  the  work  in  this  field  is 
the  problem  before  us.  Great  progress  might  have 
been  made  in  medical  missionary  work.  Sanita- 
riums might  have  been  established.  The  principles 
of  health  reform  might  have  been  proclaimed.  This 
work  is  now  to  be  taken  up,  and  into  it  not  a  ves- 
tige of  selfishness  is  to  be  brought.  It  is  to  be 
done  with  an  earnestness,  perseverance,  and  devo- 
tion that  will  open  doors  through  which  the  truth 
can  enter,  and  that  to  stay."  ELLEN  G.  WHITE. 


XVIII 
FOLLOWING  THE  GREAT  PHYSICIAN 


is  no  longer  in  this  world  in  person,  to  go 
through  our  cities  and  towns  and  villages,  healing 
the  sick;  but  he  has  commissioned  us  to  carry  forward 
the  medical  missionary  work  that  he  began.  "  1 

There  is  no  class  who  have  greater  influence  than 
physicians.  Whoever  relieves  distress  of  body  (and 
thereby  often  distress  of  mind)  possesses  a  hold  upon 
the  affections  and  confidence  of  people  which  can  be 
gained  by  few  others.  The  farther  the  medical  pro- 
fession has  advanced  out  of  quackery  and  empiricism, 
out  of  drug  medication  and  speculative  prescription, 
the  more  completely  has  it  gained  influence  with  men. 
That  influence,  when  devoted  to  rescuing  men  not  only 
from  disease  but  from  sin,  is  a  precious  possession;  but 
too  often  it  is  turned  into  another  direction.  Yet  when 
the  missionary  records  of  the  world  take  from  among 
physicians  such  glorious  names  as  Livingstone  in  Africa, 
Grant  in  Persia,  Mackenzie  in  China,  and  Grenfell  in 
Laborador,  there  is  surely  inspiration  to  their  fellows 
to  devote  their  splendid  talents  to  more  than  the  getting 
of  money  and  reputation. 

In  the  mountains  there  is  need  of  physicians  who 
will  be  at  once  philanthropists  and  educators.  It  can- 
not be  said  that  there  is  any  greater  lack  of  physicians 

!Mrs.  E.  G.  White,  Testimonies  for  the  Church,  Vol.  IX,  pp.  168, 
169. 

221 


222  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

here  than  elsewhere,  at  least  in  the  more  populous 
and  wealthy  sections;  yet  there  is  the  greatest  room 
for  physicians  who  use  simple  means  of  cure,  and  who 
will  teach  the  people  how  to  preserve  as  well  as  to  re- 
gain health.  And  there  are  many  isolated  sections 
where  the  services  of  competent  physicians  are  sorely 
needed.  The  difficulty  in  inducing  Christian  physicians 
to  settle  in  such  places  is  the  same  difficulty  that  has 
debarred  other  physicians:  the  isolation  of  the  location, 
and  the  poverty  of  the  people.  The  one  shuts  the  phy- 
sician largely  from  that  contact  with  the  rapidly  advan- 
cing science  of  his  profession  which  he  desires,  and  the 
other  prevents  the  remuneration  which  he  counts  his 
due.  Yet  the  rewards  of  such  service  have  been  found 
by  some  as  precious  as  the  equally  laborious  and  self- 
sacrificing  work  of  medical  missionaries  in  foreign  lands. 

In  the  spring  of  1907  a  Christian  physician  who  had 
had  an  important  part  in  medical  work  in  the  South, 
found  his  health  so  impaired  that,  leaving  the  large 
city  where  he  was  practising,  he  retired  for  rest  to  a  place 
his  father  had  bought  on  a  part  of  the  Cumberland 
Plateau.  It  was  a  quiet  enough  place,  almost  out  of 
the  world,  it  seemed,  and  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Cornwall  set- 
tled down  with  a  sigh  of  relief  in  their  little  log  cabin, 
to  rest  and  study.  But,  like  the  great  Physician  who 
retired  in  his  weariness  to  a  desert  place  in  Galilee, 
the  doctor  found  that  there  was  to  be  little  rest  for  him. 
Only  three  or  four  days  after  their  arrival,  he  was  called 
out  at  midnight  by  a  boy  on  muleback,  who  had  come 
to  guide  him  four  or  five  miles  through  the  woods  to 
attend  a  dying  woman.  She  was  a  poor  outcast,  who 
had  been  left  alone  in  a  log  hut,  where  she  had  a  few 
days  before  given  birth  to  twins.  Some  of  the  neighbors 
attended  her  at  that  time,  but  afterwards  left  her  alone; 
and,  neglected  and  uncared  for,  she  had  sunk  into  a 
fever  in  which  she  was  thought  to  be  dying. 

Out  there  in  the  black  wilderness  that  night,  there 
came  to  the  doctor  the  vision  of  a  needy  people  such  as 


Following  the  Great  Physician  223 

he  had  never  seen  in  his  years  of  official  life  and  insti- 
tutionalism.  In  that  lowly  cabin  he  ministered  to  the 
needs  of  this  young  woman,  passed  the  crisis  success- 
fully, and  afterwards  brought  her  to  health.  From  that 
time  on  he  was  besieged  by  people  from  increasingly 
greater  distances,  until  he  began  to  have  calls  from  as 
far  as  twenty  miles  away.  There  was  not  another  phy- 
sician on  the  breadth  and  length  of  that  mountain  pla- 
teau, twenty  by  one  hundred  miles. 

The  sympathies  of  Dr.  Cornwall  and  his  wife  were 
drawn  out  in  many  directions  for  this  people,  and 
soon  they  were  busy  hi  more  than  one  phase  of  work 
—  school,  social,  and  industrial,  as  well  as  medical. 
The  doctor's  attention  and  energies  were  called  twenty 
ways  at  once.  Was  a  tray  of  cans  just  ready,  in  the 
canning  shed,  to  go  into  the  tank,  was  a  wall  being  laid 
by  unskilled  hands,  was  the  garden  crying  for  cultiva- 
tion, there  would  surely  come  riding  up  a  messenger, 
crying:  "My  neighbor's  daughter  is  took  powerful  sick. 
She  et  too  big  a  bate  of  fresh  meat,  and  her  misery's 
raging  terrible.  They're  skeered  she  won't  live,  and 
want  you  to  come  over  quick.  They  live  on  the  fur 
brow  of  the  mountain,  on  a  cross-road  'tother  side  of  the 
big  ravine.  I'll  show  you  the  way."  What  could  he  do 
but  go,  perhaps  not  to  get  home  until  early  the  next  morn- 
ing, and  then  tired,  hungry,  and  cold?  The  familiar, 
"Hello!  Where's  the  doctor  at?"  was  one  of  their  great- 
est hindrances,  and  still  one  of  their  most  precious  op- 
portunities. Physical  suffering  was  a  goad  that  drove 
the  people  with  decreasing  reluctance  to  those  who 
could  help,  strangers  though  they  might  at  first  be. 

Miss  Rexall,  a  trained  nurse  who  had  accompanied 
them,  was  a  mainstay  hi  the  doctor's  work,  and  she 
developed  surprizingly  a  resourcefulness  not  only  hi 
meeting  emergencies,  but  in  finding  her  way  through 
almost  trackless  stretches  of  country,  to  carry  out  the 
doctor's  directions  for  treatment  in  some  needy  home. 
His  directions  might  be:  "Go  down  this  road  till  you 


224  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

come  to  a  fork.  Take  the  left-hand  one  and  go  till  you 
come  to  a  blazed  tree  on  your  right.  Then  you'll  see 
a  little  trail  going  to  your  left  again.  Follow  that  until 
you  come  to  an  old  field  that's  nearly  grown  up.  Go 
around  the  corner  of  it  and  along  by  that  fence,  and  you 
come  to  a  branch  that  you  have  to  ford.  You  may  have 
a  little  trouble  in  getting  Fanny  across,  but  if  you  insist 
she'll  make  it  all  right.  Well,  go  straight  ahead  and 
you  come  out  on  the  big  road  in  about  eighty  rods. 
Turn  to  your  right  now  and  go  two  miles.  You'll  come 
to  a  road  going  to  your  left;  don't  take  that;  and  then 
a  turn  in  the  road  to  your  right;  follow  that,  because  the 
dim  road  straight  ahead  only  leads  down  where  they've 
been  getting  out  cross  ties.  It  is  only  a  little  turn.  You  can 
tell  when  you've  gone  about  two  miles;  then  you  will 
see  a  clump  of  big  pine  trees  and  a  fork  hi  the  road. 
And  down  to  the  left,  at  the  end  of  a  lane,  is  the  house. 
You'll  find  a  sick  woman  there.  Give  her  alternate  hot 
and  cold  to  the  spine,  a  tepid  sponge  bath,  and  a  cold 
mitten  friction.  Don't  forget  the  ice-cap;  the  spring 
water  is  cold  enough  to  answer  for  that.  She  needs  a 
hot  pack,  but  there  is  no  chance  to  give  her  that.  Get 
her  quiet  before  you  leave  her,  and  leave  this  sedative 
for  emergencies." 

And  on  old  Fanny,  the  mule,  Miss  Rexall  would  make 
her  way,  guided  by  the  signs  and  doubtless  by  the  an- 
gels, coming  back  again  with  an  interesting  tale  of 
need  and  ministry  and  hospitality,  and  usually  with  a 
message  or  two  from  other  cases  found  en  route.  And 
always  her  story  would  end  with,  "Oh,  if  we  only  had 
some  place  where  we  could  put  that  poor  thing,  where 
we  could  feed  her  and  give  her  better  care." 

And  the  doctor  would  return  from  a  piece  of  crit- 
ical surgical  work  done  in  a  little  cabin  where  surgical 
cleanliness  was  almost  impossible,  to  declare:  "Oh,  how 
clean  our  own  dirt  seems!  It  was  terrible  to  do  sur- 
gical work  in  such  a  place,  but  I  feel  that  he'll  get  along 
all  right.  He  couldn't  live  without  it,  and  I  believe 


Following  the  Great  Physician  225 

the  Lord  will  make  up  for  what  we  couldn't  do.  But 
we've  got  to  have  a  place  near  by  that  we  can  keep 
clean." 

To  meet  the  needs  of  hospital  and  school,  they 
planned,  and,  through  many  difficulties,  at  last  suc- 
ceeded, in  putting  up  a  small  two-story  building,  with 
basement.  Measured  by  their  importunate  needs,  the 
work  of  excavation,  masonry,  and  carpentry  seemed  to 
crawl,  but  it  was  at  last  energized  and  finished  by  the 
coming  of  one  of  that  company  of  missionary  mechanics 
whose  work  has  meant  so  much  in  the  building  up  of 
some  of  these  schools. 

The  financial  resources  of  Dr.  Cornwall  were  at  this 
time  slight.  He  carried  no  fortune  into  the  wilderness 
with  him,  and  his  medical  work  was  largely  charitable. 
All  that  he  could  earn,  what  little  came  to  him  from 
other  sources,  was  speedily  eaten  up  by  the  needs  of 
home  and  farm  and  school  and  building,  until  the  work 
grew  so  heavy  that  he  decided  he  must  seek  an  oppor- 
tunity for  greater  earnings. 

Just  at  this  time,  in  the  spring  of  1908,  several  nurses 
who  had  previously  been  with  him  seemed  to  have  no 
prospects  for  employment,  and,  planning  with  them, 
he  decided  to  open  a  small  sanitarium  work  in  the  near- 
est large  city,  thirty  miles  from  his  railway  station 
in  the  valley.  It  was  the  doctor's  hope  that  it  might 
prove  a  means  of  financial  assistance  to  his  work  on  the 
mountain.  And  so  it  might,  if  it  had  not  been,  for  him, 
three  men's  work.  During  the  day  he  attended  to  his 
practise  in  the  city,  while  his  wife,  with  two  or  three 
helpers,  held  the  fort  on  the  mountain;  at  night  he  would 
travel  to  and  from  his  home,  sometimes  carrying  pro- 
visions in  his  arms  three  miles  up  the  mountain  road, 
returning  early  in  the  morning  to  the  city.  Often  his 
rest  at  night  was  broken  by  a  call  from  some  sick  high- 
lander,  and  sometimes  he  was  prevented  by  his  work 
there  from  reaching  the  city.  His  faithful  nurses  in 
both  places  made  up  all  they  could  for  his  absence.  But 
15 


226 


The  Men  of  the  Mountains 


such  a  life  could  not  last  forever.  Sickness  in  his  family 
brought  additional  anxieties  and  burdens,  resulting  in  a 
nervous  breakdown,  which  necessitated  his  retiring 
from  the  field  for  several  months.  With  deep  regret 
the  work  was  surrendered  to  others;  but  the  influence  of 
that  unselfish  and  devoted  effort  remains  today  in  the 
hearts  and  lives  and  minds  of  that  elevated  community. 


XIX 

THE  RURAL  SANITARIUM 

CEVENTH-DAY  ADVENTISTS  from  their  earliest 
*— '  history  have  earnestly  advocated  simple,  right  liv- 
ing and  rational  methods  of  healing.  These  principles 
have  made  a  deep  impression  upon  the  denominational 
character,  and  have  given  a  distinct  trend  to  their  work. 
They  believe  that  the  divine  plan  of  country  life  is  based 
upon  right  laws  for  the  development  of  the  entire  man 
and  for  maintaining  health  of  body,  mind,  and  soul.  It 
is  reasonable,  therefore,  to  hold  that  an  institution  whose 
object  is  the  restoration  of  health  has  great  advantages 
if  located  in  the  country. 

The  tendency  of  the  world  is  toward  centralization 
and  extreme  specialization,  as  seen  in  the  rapid  creation 
and  development  of  cities,  monopolies,  and  tyrannies,  but 
there  are  men  who,  grasping  the  plan  of  God,  are  moving 
their  homes  and  their  institutions  away  from  these  cen- 
ters of  artificial  activity  to  the  more  normal  environments 
found  in  rural  communities.  Here  the  tenor  of  men's 
minds  is  changed  by  dwelling  upon  the  objects  of  nature. 

For  the  healing  of  diseased  bodies  and  minds,  there 
is  no  environment  so  favorable  as  the  country,  and  no 
agencies  so  powerful  as  those  gifts  of  God,  pure  food, 
fresh  air,  sleep,  sunshine,  work,  and  unselfish  service 
for  others.  The  sick  need  to  be  brought  into  close 
touch  with  nature.  An  outdoor  life  amid  natural 

(227) 


228  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

surroundings  has  worked  wonders  for  many  a  helpless 
and  almost  hopeless  invalid. 

This  truth  has  been  well  expressed  in  the  following 
words:  "The  noise  and  excitement  and  confusion  of  the 
cities,  their  constrained  and  artificial  life,  are  most 
wearisome  and  exhausting  to  the  sick.  The  air,  laden 
with  smoke  and  dust,  with  poisonous  gases,  and  with 
germs  of  disease,  is  a  peril  to  life.  The  sick,  for  the 
most  part  shut  within  four  walls,  come  almost  to  feel 
as  if  they  were  prisoners  in  then*  rooms.  They  look 
out  on  houses  and  pavements  and  hurrying  crowds, 
with  perhaps  not  even  a  glimpse  of  blue  sky  or  sun- 
shine, of  grass  or  flower  or  tree.  Shut  up  in  this  way, 
they  brood  over  their  suffering  and  sorrow,  and  become 
a  prey  to  then*  own  sad  thoughts. 

"And  for  those  who  are  weak  in  moral  power,  the 
cities  abound  hi  dangers.  In  them,  patients  who  have 
unnatural  appetites  to  overcome  are  continually  exposed 
to  temptation.  They  need  to  be  placed  amid  new  sur- 
roundings, where  the  current  of  their  thoughts  will 
be  changed,  they  need  to  be  placed  under  influences 
wholly  different  from  those  that  have  wrecked  their 
lives.  Let  them  for  a  season  be  removed  from  those 
influences  that  lead  away  from  God,  into  a  purer  atmos- 
phere. 

"Institutions  for  the  care  of  the  sick  would  be  far 
more  successful  if  they  could  be  established  .away  from 
the  cities.  And  so  far  as  possible,  all  who  are  seeking 
to  recover  health  should  place  themselves  amid  country 
surroundings,  where  they  can  have  the  benefit  of  outdoor 
life.  Nature  is  God's  physician.  The  pure  air,  the 
glad  sunshine,  the  flowers  and  trees,  the  orchards  and 
vineyards,  and  outdoor  exercise  amid  these  surround- 
ings, are  health-giving,  life-giving. 

"Physicians  and  nurses  should  encourage  their  pa- 
tients to  be  much  in  the  open  air.  Outdoor  life  is  the 
only  remedy  that  many  invalids  need.  It  has  a  won- 
derful power  to  heal  diseases  caused  by  the  excitements 


The  Rural  Sanitarium  229 

and  excesses  of  fashionable  life,  a  life  that  weakens  and 
destroys  the  powers  of  body,  mind,  and  soul. 

"How  grateful  to  the  invalids  weary  of  city  life, 
the  glare  of  many  lights,  and  the  noise  of  the  streets, 
are  the  quiet  and  freedom  of  the  country!  How  eagerly 
do  they  turn  to  the  scenes  of  nature!  How  glad  would 
they  be  to  sit  in  the  open  air,  rejoice  in  the  sunshine, 
and  breathe  the  fragrance  of  tree  and  flower!  There 
are  life-giving  properties  in  the  balsam  of  the  pine, 
in  the  fragrance  of  the  cedar  and  the  fir,  and  other  trees 
also  have  properties  that  are  health-restoring. 

"To  the  chronic  invalid,  nothing  so  tends  to  restore 
health  and  happiness  as  living  amid  attractive  country 
surroundings.  Here  the  most  helpless  ones  can  sit 
or  lie  in  the  sunshine  or  in  the  shade  of  the  trees.  They 
have  only  to  lift  their  eyes  to  see  above  them  the  beauti- 
ful foliage.  A  sweet  sense  of  restfulness  and  refreshing 
conies  over  them  as  they  listen  to  the  murmuring  of 
the  breezes.  The  drooping  spirits  revive.  The  waning 
strength  is  recruited.  Unconsciously  the  mind  becomes 
peaceful,  the  fevered  pulse  more  calm  and  regular." 

The  Rural  Sanitarium  in  connection  with  the  Madison 
School  stands  in  close  adherence  to  this  ideal.  At  the 
time  the  school  farm  was  being  bought,  Mrs.  E.  G. 
White  pointed  out  a  site  in  a  grove,  some  three  hundred 
yards  from  the  old  farm  house,  saying,  "This  would 
be  a  good  place  to  put  your  sanitarium. "  Nearly  on  that 
spot  today  stand  the  simple  buildings  of  the  Rural  Sani- 
tarium. 

It  did  not  seem  within  the  possibilities,  during  the 
first  few  years  of  struggle,  to  take  any  steps  toward 
establishing  a  sanitarium.  But  the  foundations  were 
early  laid,  in  the  training  of  nurses.  While  yet  the  old 
farm  house,  with  its  low,  dark  rooms  and  drafty  doors, 
was  the  only  home  of  the  school,  Mrs.  Druillard  took  in 
hand  the  education  of  the  first  nurses'  class  of  five  girls. 

Their  class  was  held  in  an  upper  room  that  also 

1  Mrs.  E.  G.  White,  Ministry  of  Healing,  pp.  262-264. 


230  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

served  as  a  sleeping  room.  Here  they  heated  their  water 
for  fomentations  hi  an  iron  pot  in  the  fireplace;  they 
demonstrated  massage  upon  a  pallet  of  two  planks 
laid  from  one  bed  to  another.  They  studied  dietetics 
and  hydrotherapeutics  and  psychotherapy  under  con- 
ditions such  as  they  would  find  little  exceeded  out  in  the 
mountains.  That  class  has  since  proved  its  superior  ef- 
ficiency hi  a  number  of  trying  positions  of  responsibility 
and  authority. 

But  it  was  not  until  the  managers  felt  that  their 
hands  were  forced  by  circumstances,  under  great  dis- 
advantages, to  take  up  the  healing  work  as  an  institu- 
tion, that  the  first  steps  were  taken  toward  making  a 
sanitarium.  One  day  hi  the  summer  of  1905,  there 
came  to  the  Madison  School  a  man  whose  home  was  in 
the  city  of  Nashville.  He  was  suffering  from  disease, 
and  wanted  a  quiet  place  hi  which  to  recuperate.  He 
stated  that  he  had  heard  something  of  the  Battle  Creek 
Sanitarium,  and  he  thought  he  could  get  those  treat- 
ments there  at  Madison.  But  they  told  him  that,  while 
they  expected  some  tune  to  provide  facilities  for  help- 
ing sick  people,  they  were  not  yet  in  any  condition  to 
receive  patients.  They  had  but  two  or  three  cottages 
erected,  and  several  of  the  teachers  and  most  of  the 
students  were  still  crowded  into  the  old  farm  house. 

But  he  begged  that  he  might  stay.  He  said  he  would 
sleep  on  the  front  porch;  he  would  eat  at  the  family 
table;  he  would  not  ask  for  special  treatments.  Such  im- 
portunity could  not  be  denied,  and  he  was  told  he  might 
remain.  A  blanket  partitioned  off  one  end  of  the  ve- 
randa, and  there  he  slept.  Plain  and  simple  vegetarian 
food  was  served  him  on  a  tray.  There  was  as  yet  no  bath- 
room, and  the  only  hydropathic  facilities  were  a  common 
wash-tub  and  a  boiler  in  which  to  heat  the  water  on  the 
kitchen  stove.  But  sunshine  was  free,  pure  fresh  air  was 
abundant,  and  cheerful  determination  was  the  key-note 
of  the  school. 

Under  such  conditions  the  man's  strength  gradually 


The  Rural  Sanitarium  231 

returned  to  him,  and  he  went  back  to  the  city  and  re- 
sumed his  business.  To  his  friends  he  gave  the  credit 
for  his  recovery  to  the  healthful  diet,  the  quiet  surround- 
ings, and  the  cheerful  atmosphere  of  the  school. 

To  the  school  management  it  seemed  that  God  was 
pressing  them  by  this  and  similar  circumstances,  even 
before  they  had  sufficient  facilities  for  their  school  work, 
to  establish  a  sanitarium  in  connection  with  it;  and  there- 
fore they  planned  to  do  it.  It  was  their  purpose  to  build 
the  sanitarium,  not  as  a  distinct  institution,  but  as  an 
integral  part  of  the  school.  It  must  partake  of  the  sim- 
plicity of  the  school,  it  must  make  the  same  appeal  to 
country  environment  and  life,  and  it  must  have  its 
part  in  educating  the  students  for  service. 

To  many  people  the  name  " sanitarium"  conveys 
the  idea  of  an  immense  building,  with  elevators,  steam 
heat,  expensive  apparatus,  gymnasium  equipped  with 
many  artificial  appliances  for  exercise,  and  an  atmos- 
phere of  artificial  life.  When  one  comes  upon  the  Madi- 
son Rural  Sanitarium,  the  contrast  is  so  strong  that  it 
frequently  calls  forth  an  exclamation  of  wonder.  Ar- 
ranged on  three  sides  of  a  hollow  square,  with  every  room 
fronting  on  the  veranda  and  open  to  light  and  air  on 
two  sides,  the  little  one-story  sanitarium  seems  not  an 
institution,  but  the  quiet  retreat  of  a  country  home. 
The  building  is  surrounded  by  trees  and  blue-grass 
sward.  The  sweeping  view  is  beautiful,  the  quiet  is 
impressive  and  restful.  Patients  accustomed  to  the 
noise  and  smoke-laden  air  of  the  city,  at  once  appre- 
ciate the  quiet  of  the  Rural  Sanitarium. 

The  equipment  is  simple,  consisting  mostly  of  the 
hydropathic  appliances  in  the  two  small  treatment  de- 
partments. For  the  healing  of  the  sick,  reliance  is  placed 
upon  the  natural  remedies  of  fresh  air,  sunshine,  water, 
proper  diet,  exercise,  peace,  and  joy.  Quietly  and  gradu- 
ally the  patronage  has  been  built  up.  Influential  peo- 
ple in  Nashville  and  neighboring  towns  have  found  that 
within  easy  reach  of  their  own  homes  there  is  a  quiet 


232  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

little  retreat  where  rational  treatments  are  given,  and 
where  patients  are  well  cared  for. 

The  sanitarium  patients  are  much  interested  in  the 
development  of  the  school.  They  become  acquainted 
with  the  system  of  self-government,  the  industrial 
work,  and  other  features  of  the  school.  Frequently 
they  attend  the  Union  Meetings,  the  legislative  sessions 
of  the  school  family.  They  can  be  found  wandering  over 
the  farm  where  the  young  men  are  at  work;  and  they 
visit  and  sometimes  work  in  the  garden  from  which 
the  sanitarium  table  is  supplied  with  vegetables,  and 
the  dairy,  with  whose  products  they  have  already  be- 
come acquainted  at  the  sanitarium.  Their  attention 
is  called  to  the  fact  that  the  buildings  are  the  work 
of  the  carpentry  class,  and  this  in  itself  appeals  strongly 
to  men  and  women  who  are  interested  in  practical  edu- 
cation. And  last,  their  close  association  with  the  stu- 
dents makes  them  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  chief 
product  of  the  school.  More  than  once  patients  have 
remarked  that  they  have  never  met  another  class  of 
young  people  having  so  definite,  determined,  and  high 
a  purpose  in  life. 

Each  day  at  the  sanitarium,  worship  is  held  in  the 
parlor.  From  time  to  time  lectures  are  delivered  on 
health  topics,  and  the  minds  of  the  patients  are  directed 
to  the  importance  of  diet  reform,  correct  habits  of  liv- 
ing and  thinking,  the  value  of  the  simple  life,  the  rea- 
sons for  establishing  a  sanitarium  in  the  country,  etc. 
The  home  life  of  many  of  these  patients  has  been  changed 
as  the  result  of  their  stay  at  the  sanitarium.  They  be- 
come acquainted  with  the  principles  here  held  through 
conversation  with  nurses  and  physicians,  by  attending 
Sabbath  services  with  the  school  family,  and  through 
meetings  which  are  held  in  the  sanitarium  itself,  as  well 
as  by  the  literature  at  their  hand  on  health  and  other 
topics.  Often  in  warm  weather  the  Sabbath  vesper 
service  for  the  entire  school  family  is  held  on  the  sani- 
tarium lawn.  It  is  the  custom  of  physicians,  nurses,  and 


The  Rural  Sanitarium  233 

workers  to  hold  a  daily  prayer  service  in  behalf  of  the 
patients  and  the  work  in  general. 

The  Rural  Sanitarium  is  a  very  small  institution, 
but  its  very  simplicity  is  in  its  favor.  Each  patient  is 
dealt  with  individually.  He  comes  daily  in  contact 
with  physicians  and  helpers  in  a  way  impossible  for 
patients  in  a  larger  sanitarium.  The  institution  main- 
tains the  closest  cooperation  between  school  and  sani- 
tarium workers.  In  the  case  of  the  Madison  School 
and  the  Rural  Sanitarium,  there  are  not  two  institutions. 
The  sanitarium  is  simply  a  department  of  the  school. 
The  members  of  the  school  faculty  are  physicians,  ma- 
trons, and  helpers  in  the  sanitarium.  The  nurses  trained 
to  carry  the  work  at  the  sanitarium  receive  their  training 
under  these  same  physicians  and  other  instructors 
in  the  school.  They  give  a  part  of  their  time  to  the 
sanitarium  and  a  part  to  the  other  work  of  the  school, 
according  to  the  varying  needs  of  the  several  depart- 
ments, thus  avoiding  a  wastage  of  labor.  There  is  abso- 
lutely no  division  between  the  sanitarium  workers  and 
the  rest  of  the  student  body. 

It  is  not  designed  to  increase  greatly  the  capacity 
of  the  institution.  The  policy  of  the  management  is 
rather  to  encourage  the  providing  of  treatment  facili- 
ties in  the  out-schools,  and  to  direct  patients  there 
whenever  their  cases  seem  favorable  to  the  conditions 
provided. 

The  prospects  for  health  homes  or  treatment-rooms 
in  connection  with  the  rural  schools  have  developed  as 
the  result  of  neighborhood  work  among  the  sick.  Some 
among  then1  workers  are  trained  nurses,  and  practically 
all  of  them  have  acquired  some  experience  through  an- 
swering the  calls  of  the  suffering  about  them.  In  this 
work  they  have  often  come  in  contact  with  the  physi- 
cians of  the  community,  who  on  acquaintance  have  be- 
come their  staunch  friends.  "Whatever  Mr.  Emmet 
does,"  one  of  them  sent  word  to  his  anxious  patient, 
"let  him  alone.  He  will  do  everything  all  right." 


234  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

One  day  there  was  a  surgical  operation  to  be  per- 
formed in  a  little  house  near  Mr.  Emmet's  school.  A 
boy  had  an  abscess,  and  the  doctor  finally  decided  it 
would  be  necessary  to  remove  a  rib  in  order  to  drain 
the  cavity.  "When  I  do  that,"  he  told  Emmet,  "I 
want  you  to  be  there."  Mr.  Emmet  was  visiting  the 
boy  twice  a  week,  treating  him  under  the  physician's 
directions,  and  trying  to  teach  his  parents  how  to  care 
for  him  —  for  instance,  to  feed  him  fruit  and  toast  in- 
stead of  side-meat  and  biscuit. 

When  Mr.  Emmet  arrived  on  the  day  of  the  opera- 
tion, the  two  surgeons  were  already  there.  The  boy  was 
lifted  upon  a  rickety  kitchen  table,  the  father  with  a 
leafy  branch  kept  the  flies  off,  one  doctor  gave  the  an- 
aesthetic, Emmet  handed  the  instruments  and  held 
open  the  wound,  while  the  surgeon  did  the  cutting. 
When  they  had  gotten  the  boy  back  to  bed,  they  stepped 
out  into  the  yard,  and  the  nurse  asked,  "Doctor,  what  do 
you  think  about  it?" 

He  said,  "Emmet,  the  odds  are  against  him,  but  it 
is  surprising  what  these  people  can  go  through.  If  I 
just  had  some  good  clean  place  where  I  could  take  some 
patients,  there  would  be  some  sort  of  hope  in  treating 
them." 

"Would  you,"  the  other  asked,  "cooperate  with  us 
if  we  could  build  a  little  place  on  the  hill  where  we  could 
take  care  of  your  patients?" 

And  the  surgeon  replied  with  emphasis,  "Yes,  sir! 
You  will  have  all  the  cooperation  I  can  give." 

And  today  there  stands  "on  the  hill"  the  response  to 
this  appeal,  in  the  form  of  a  neat  two-story  health  home, 
with  treatment  appliances  and  room  for  a  dozen  patients. 
Several  other  schools  have  provided  similar  facilities,  and 
practically  all  are  planning  to  do  so  as  soon  as  circum- 
stances permit.  The  gospel  of  health  is  an  integral  part 
of  the  mission  of  these  rural  school  workers,  as  it  was 
of  their  Master. 


XX 

THE  NURSE  AND  THE  MEDICAL 
MISSIONARY 

CHRIST,  the  great  Medical  Missionary,  is  our  ex- 
V*  ample.  Of  him  it  is  written  that  he  'went  about 
all  Galilee,  teaching  in  their  synagogues,  and  preaching 
the  gospel  of  the  kingdom,  and  healing  all  manner  of 
sickness  and  all  manner  of  disease  among  the  people.' 
Matt.  4:  23.  He  healed  the  sick  and  preached  the  gos- 
pel. In  his  service,  healing  and  teaching  were  linked 
closely  together.  Today  they  are  not  to  be  separated. 

"The  nurses  who  are  trained  in  our  institutions  are 
to  be  fitted  up  to  go  out  as  medical  missionary  evangel- 
ists, uniting  the  ministry  of  the  Word  with  that  of  phys- 
ical healing.  .  .  . 

"All  around  us  are  doors  open  for  service.  We  should 
become  acquainted  with  our  neighbors,  and  seek  to 
draw  them  to  Christ.  As  we  do  this,  he  will  approve 
and  cooperate  with  us.  .  .  . 

"There  should  be  companies  organized,  and  edu- 
cated most  thoroughly  to  work  as  nurses,  as  evangel- 
ists, as  ministers,  as  canvassers,  as  gospel  students,  to 
perfect  a  character  after  the  divine  similitude.  .  .  . 
There  should  be  workers  who  make  medical  evangelis- 
tic tours  among  the  towns  and  villages.  Those  who  do 
this  work  will  gather  a  rich  harvest  of  souls,  from  both 
the  higher  and  lower  classes."1 

.  E.  G.  White,  Testimonies  for  the  Church,  Vol.  IX,  pp.  170-172. 

235 


236  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

Such  a  work  as  is  portrayed  above  is  distinctively 
that  of  the  self-supporting  workers.  There  is  doubt- 
less not  a  single  group  of  these  workers  who  do  not  have 
constant  practise  in  Christian  help  work  —  relieving 
distress  and  healing  the  sick.  From  every  one  of  the 
rural  mission  groups,  experiences  could  be  related  like 
that  of  Rachel  Black  at  the  Meadowdale  School. 

Typhoid  is  a  plague  in  that  section,  and  when  the 
word  came  that  a  neighbor  woman  and  her  four  chil- 
dren (the  father  of  the  family  having  but  recently  died) 
were  all  down  with  typhoid  fever,  not  a  person  in  the 
neighborhood,  not  even  then*  relatives,  would  go  and 
stay  with  them.  Rachel,  an  eighteen-year-old  girl, 
packed  her  valise  with  a  few  clothes,  and  went  down  to 
the  stricken  household.  There  she  stayed  for  four  weeks, 
doing  the  cooking  and  housekeeping,  and  attending  to 
all  five  of  the  cases,  night  and  day. 

When  she  went  there,  they  had  a  doctor,  an  old  man, 
who  was  dosing  them  all  heavily  with  drugs;  but  Miss 
Rachel  induced  them  to  let  her  try  water  treatments, 
whereupon  the  old  doctor  refused  longer  to  attend  the 
cases.  They  sent  farther  away,  to  a  railroad  town, 
for  a  younger  physician,  who,  when  he  came,  was  de- 
lighted as  well  as  astonished  to  find  in  those  backwoods 
a  nurse  who  understood  hydropathic  methods  of  treat- 
ment, and  he  readily  gave  her  permission  to  go  on  with 
her  work.  It  was  a  strenuous  life  for  the  nurse,  who  per- 
haps presumed  too  much  upon  her  abundant  health  and 
vigor.  In  one  day  she  gave  eleven  mitten  frictions 
and  oil  rubs,  besides  her  other  work.  She  nursed  the 
mother  and  three  of  the  children  back  to  health,  though 
before  they  were  through  with  the  fever  the  children 
were  attacked  with  whooping  cough  —  which  the  dis- 
gruntled old  doctor  ascribed  to  the  water  treatments! 
While  the  fourth  child  was  still  convalescent,  Miss 
Rachel  herself  was  stricken  down  with  the  fever.  The 
news  of  her  sickness  electrified  the  community,  and  per- 
sons who  had  refused  to  care  for  the  sick  were  heard  to 


The  Nurse  and  the  Medical  Missionary  237 

say  that  they  would  rather  give  their  own  lives  than  to 
have  Rachel  Black  die  now. 

Her  mother  brought  her  home,  with  a  temperature 
of  105°.  The  doctor  called  to  see  her  and  was  welcomed, 
but  no  medicines  were  given.  It  was  January,  and  Mrs. 
Black  placed  her  sick  daughter  on  a  couch  by  the  open 
window,  where  the  cool  winds  could  pass  over  her.  She 
packed  her  in  ice,  fed  her  nothing  but  blackberry  juice 
—  the  only  fruit  obtainable  —  and  in  ten  days  she  had 
the  fever  broken.  Rachel  Black  was  back  to  visit  her 
last  patient  before  that  patient  —  again  attended  by 
the  old  doctor  —  was  out  of  bed.  This  exhibit  of  the 
efficacy  of  the  treatment  and  the  Christian  love  of  the 
nurse  gained  the  high  favor  of  the  community,  which 
has,  besides,  had  more  than  one  similar  experience  with 
this  school  group. 

Something  of  the  medical  missionary  work  of  certain 
schools  has  already  been  mentioned  in  other  connection, 
and  other  schools  have  had  similar  experiences.  Of 
a  wider  nature  is  the  work  of  Mr.  Thomas  Patrick,  who 
with  his  wife  and  two  little  girls,  after  a  stay  of  some 
months  at  the  Madison  School,  removed  to  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Mr.  Walter's  school  in  the  Cumberlands. 
Patrick  was  a  pharmacist,  and  had  had  some  experience 
as  a  nurse  in  a  hospital.  On  the  broad  and  long  expanse 
of  the  plateau  he  found  himself  nearer  being  a  physi- 
cian than  any  other  man  there.  Physicians,  when 
needed  for  any  case,  had  to  come  up  from  the  valley, 
and  it  was  with  difficulty  that  one  could  be  persuaded 
to  climb  the  steep  sides  of  the  mountain,  even  if  he  could 
be  gotten  in  time. 

On  Mr.  Patrick's  arrival  he  found  Walter  with  a 
wounded  hand,  which  he  dressed.  This  act  was  quickly 
known  thereabouts,  and  he  was  surprised  when  he  went 
abroad  to  be  saluted  as  "  Doctor."  There  came  to  him 
soon  after,  a  man  who  had  in  his  spine  eight  open  sores, 
which  had  troubled  him  for  many  years,  constantly  dis- 
charging pus,  and  causing  him  great  pain.  He  had  been 


238  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

to  many  doctors,  and  had  had  much  treatment,  but 
without  being  cured.  He  now  asked  Mr.  Patrick  to 
try  to  heal  him.  Patrick  said  that  he  was  not  a  physi- 
cian. Still  the  man  begged  him  to  try.  He  replied  that 
he  did  not  know  whether  he  could  help  him,  but  he  did 
know  that  the  Great  Physician  could,  if  he  would  con- 
form to  his  laws.  So  he  took  him  in  hand,  cleansing  the 
sores  and  disinfecting  them.  Then  he  knelt  down  and 
prayed  for  the  man. 

When  he  had  risen  and  was  about  to  dismiss  his 
patient,  he  asked  him,  "Do  you  use  pork?" 

"Yes,"  answered  the  man. 

"You  must  stop  eating  pork,  or  I  can't  do  anything 
for  you,  because  it  pollutes  your  body,  and  is  no  doubt 
partly  the  cause  of  your  bad  condition." 

The  man  promised  and  went  away  and  told  every- 
where about  the  man  who  made  him  stop  eating  hog 
meat.  As  he  continued  to  get  better  under  further 
treatments,  and  finally  was  completely  cured,  the  peo- 
ple gave  no  little  heed  to  the  idea  that  pork-eating 
should  be  stopped. 

Mr.  Patrick  soon  found  himself  in  demand  for  miles 
about,  wherever  there  were  sick  people.  He  had  bought 
a  small  place  on  the  mountain,  intending  to  support 
his  family  from  the  soil,  and  he  now  had  his  garden 
planted,  but  he  could  get  no  time  to  tend  it.  Calls  came 
from  one  direction  and  another,  and  soon  a  familiar 
sight  on  the  lonely  mountain  roads  came  to  be  this  nurse, 
going  on  foot  from  place  to  place  to  attend  the  sick. 

The  matter  of  a  living  seemed  just  then  a  serious 
matter  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Patrick.  They  had  come  out 
from  an  affluent  life,  and  were  quite  unused  to  the  wil- 
derness and  its  hardships  and  privations;  and  now  how 
they  should  get  then*  daily  bread  was  an  immediate 
problem.  Mr.  Patrick  never  charged  fees  for  his  work: 
he  gave  as  freely  as  did  the  Great  Physician  in  the  days 
of  his  ministry;  and  seldom,  at  first,  were  gifts  made  to 
him.  His  garden  grew  up  hi  weeds,  despite  the  best 


The  Nurse  and  the  Medical  Missionary  239 

endeavors  of  his  wife;  for  every  time  he  would  set  him- 
self to  garden  making,  a  call  would  be  sure  to  come  from 
some  one  in  distress,  and  he  could  not  refuse  to  go. 
Nevertheless,  that  garden,  under  its  weedy  blanket, 
yielded  wonderfully,  as  well  as  most  cultivated  gardens, 
a  blessing  which  they  took  as  a  direct  favor  from  the 
Lord.  And  now  and  again,  at  some  critical  time,  when 
no  dinner  was  in  sight,  some  unexpected  providence 
would  furnish  them  with  bread. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Patrick  continued  his  itinerant 
mission  to  the  people  of  the  mountain.  He  would  first 
treat  his  patients  for  then1  immediate  pains,  then  he 
would  pray  for  them,  and  afterwards  he  would  instruct 
them  in  habits  of  right  living.  Always  he  would  tell 
them  that  they  must  stop  using  tobacco  and  liquor, 
and  he  would  not  treat  them  unless  they  did  this,  be- 
cause, he  said,  these  are  the  laws  of  God,  and  it  is  God 
who  is  doing  the  healing.  Far  more  than  his  treatments, 
the  faith  and  the  earnest  prayer  of  the  man  impressed 
those  who  came  under  his  charge,  and  a  great  refor- 
mation was  begun. 

One  day,  early  in  his  experience,  Mr.  Patrick  passed 
by  a  schoolhouse  out  in  the  woods.  He  stopped  to  rest 
and  watch,  and  thus  became  acquainted  with  the  teacher 
and  the  boys  and  girls.  Their  conversation  soon  turned 
to  topics  of  health,  and  Mr.  Patrick  began  to  introduce 
some  thoughts  of  hygiene  badly  needed  there.  The 
teacher  finally  invited  him  to  come  to  the  school  and 
teach  the  boys  and  girls,  and  also  to  teach  him,  so  that 
he  might  help  his  pupils.  The  children  took  great  de- 
light in  the  physical  exercises  and  marches,  and  listened 
with  eagerness  to  the  health  principles  taught.  A  very 
considerable  change  was  made  in  the  surroundings; 
outhouses  were  built  where  there  were  none  before, 
personal  cleanliness  became  a  gospel  to  the  school, 
and  appreciation  of  the  value  of  God's  remedial  agencies 
—  fresh  air,  sunshine,  pure  water  and  food  —  was  brought 
into  many  homes.  The  teacher  himself  became  an  en- 


240  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

thusiastic  supporter  and  exemplar  of  these  physical 
truths  which  bear  so  close  a  relation  to  mental  and 
spiritual  purity  and  health. 

It  was  chiefly  through  the  interest  aroused  in  the 
children  that  Mr.  Patrick  succeeded  in  founding  a 
health  club  composed  largely  of  adults,  a  club  which 
early  reached  a  membership  of  seventy-five.  The  mem- 
bers of  this  club  pledged  themselves  to  maintain  purity 
of  thought  and  life,  and  to  follow  a  program  of  exercise, 
pure  food,  and  cleanliness.  The  influence  of  this  vol- 
untary health  association,  not  only  against  the  grosser 
evils  of  liquor  and  tobacco,  but  upon  the  inner  life  of 
thought  and  will,  is  an  incalculable  ally  of  truth  and 
purity. 

Meanwhile,  this  itinerant  medical  evangelist  goes 
his  way  over  the  roads  and  trails  of  the  mountain  wil- 
derness, seeking  no  gain  but  the  blessing  and  happiness 
of  his  fellow-men,  and  following  far  in  the  steps  of  that 
Master  who  "went  about  doing  good,  and  healing  all 
that  were  oppressed  of  the  devil. "  It  is  a  work  that  is 
yet  to  be  imitated  far  and  wide  by  those  who  see  value 
in  the  Saviour ?s  methods,  who  are  willing  to  sacrifice 
themselves  to  the  heavy  work  and  the  meager  living  that 
invariably  accompany  the  peace  and  joy  and  power 
of  the  close  followers  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth. 


16 


"  THE  old  education  fails  to  reach  the  mountain 
problem  because  it  is  not  adapted  to  mountain  con- 
ditions. The  kind  of  education  needed  is  educa- 
tion which  shall  have  a  larger  bearing  upon  the  life 
which  the  people  are  to  lead.  The  school  by  which 
this  education  is  to  be  provided  must  establish  a 
practical  connection  between  education  and  work. 
Its  course  of  study  must  have  to  do  with  the  in- 
dustries of  the  environment."  ANDREW  J.  RITCHIE. 


XXI 
THE   SCHOOLS  OP   GOD 

GOD  made  the  first  school  upon  earth,  which  he  in- 
tended to  be  a  model  for  all  after  schools.  The 
teachers  were  himself  and  his  angels,  and  the  pupils  were 
the  first  man  and  woman,  the  schoolroom  was  a  garden, 
and  the  text-books  were  the  created  things  of  land  and 
sea  and  sky.  In  this  school,  work  was  study,  and  achieve- 
ment was  the  companion  of  study.  The  service  which 
man  received  from  all  creation,  he  repaid  in  service; 
yet  so  evenly  ran  the  course  of  nature  that  service  was 
not  toil,  and  life  was  joyous  because  the  powers  of  mind 
and  body  were  ever  fresh  and  eager  for  use. 

Sin  spoiled  the  perfection  of  man's  life,  deranged 
its  course,  and  made  infinitely  hard  its  conditions;  yet 
even  under  the  changed  conditions,  true  education 
still  seeks  to  conform  itself  to  the  original  plan.  The 
inability  of  parents  may  force  the  partial  substitution 
of  other  teachers,  the  niggardliness  of  nature  may  re- 
quire more  work  for  the  support  of  life,  and  dulled  minds 
and  depraved  natures  may  thwart  much  of  the  Crea- 
tor's design  in  study;  yet  the  schools  of  God  today  will 
seek  the  conditions  and  the  methods  of  that  school  of 
Eden. 

At  the  present  day,  the  popular  system  of  education 
is  a  child  of  medievalism.  It  has  freed  itself  from  many 
of  the  shackles  bound  upon  it  by  the  Dark  Ages,  and 
every  day  is  struggling  still  clearer;  yet  in  many  of  its 

(243) 


244  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

forms  and  its  ideals  it  shows  its  parentage  and  its  ser- 
vitude. In  this  the  public  mind  lags  behind  the  scholas- 
tic mind,  and  it  is  difficult  to  get  rid  of  many  ideas 
and  practises  which  lie  embedded  deep  in  popular  preju- 
dice. Most  parents  of  school  children  yet  make  book- 
learning  a  synonym  of  education,  and  the  modern 
reforms  of  educational  handicrafts,  from  sloyd  to  ma- 
chine shops,  are  begrudged  by  almost  a  majority  of 
parents,  who  grumble  that  they  can  teach  these  things 
to  then1  children  at  home. 

If  they  could  and  if  they  had,  the  burden  would  not 
be  upon  the  school;  but  the  history  of  the  home  in  the 
past  century  has  been  a  history  of  progressive  abdica- 
tion. It  has  successively  resigned  to  institutional  hands, 
to  governmental  hands,  to  ecclesiastical  hands,  or  to 
no  hands  at  all,  its  ancient  privileges  of  instruction  in 
arts  and  handicrafts,  in  the  principles  of  obedience  and 
control,  and  in  the  tenets  and  practises  of  Christianity. 
When  Horace  Mann  began  his  agitation  for  government 
control  of  child  education,  it  was  yet  at  a  time  when  the 
parent  was  capable,  and  not  altogether  neglectful,  of 
giving  his  children  an  education  in  everything  but  litera- 
ture. America  was  a  land  of  farms,  whereon  the  boys 
and  girls  were  taught  how  to  live  practical  lives,  where 
only  for  book  knowledge  was  there  a  famine.  And 
America,  despite  its  free  thought,  was  a  land  of  religion 
in  home  and  church.  And  it  was  a  land  of  homes,  where 
the  day  saw  the  united  efforts  of  family  workers,  and  the 
evening  saw  then*  gatherings  around  the  fireside,  the 
work-table,  or  the  festive  board.  But  with  the  growth 
of  commercialism,  of  irreligion,  and  of  urban  life,  the 
family  group  has  been  dissolving.  The  average  home 
today  is  little  more  than  a  lodging  house  and  a  restau- 
rant. Rarely  does  it  hear  the  voice  of  family  prayer  or 
of  parental  instruction,  seldom  is  it  the  center  of  com- 
munal industry  and  association.  It  has  thrown  the 
burden  of  the  one  upon  the  church,  and  of  the  other 
upon  the  institution.  And  thus  to  thoughtful  edu- 


The  Schools  of  God  245 

cators  the  state's  training  of  the  child,  neglected  by  the 
home  and  in  all  practical  senses  by  the  church,  has  be- 
come a  problem  not  merely  of  literature  and  science,  but 
of  a  fitting  for  complete  life.  And  for  sufficient  cause  they 
have  instituted  reforms. 

To  the  degree  to  which  these  reforms  approach  the 
ideal  of  the  home,  God's  original  school  pattern,  they  are 
in  the  right  direction.  But  that  the  state  can  ever  make 
a  satisfactory  substitute  for  the  home  in  the  complete 
education  of  its  children  was  refuted  long  ago  by  the 
experience  of  old  Sparta,  which  took  the  child  almost 
from  the  cradle,  making  the  state  his  father  and  mother, 
and  succeeded  in  creating  patriots  but  not  nation- 
builders,  and  by  usurping  the  home  destroyed  the  state. 

The  public  teacher,  with  all  the  ability  he  may  pos- 
sess and  all  the  facilities  he  may  create,  cannot  take  the 
place  of  the  parent  in  the  home,  unless  he  fully  puts 
himself  in  the  place  of  that  parent,  and  makes  his  school 
a  home.  It  is  not  possible  as  it  is  not  desirable,  that  the 
teacher  become  the  parent  of  the  community.  But  it 
is  possible,  as  it  is  altogether  desirable,  that  he  help  the 
parents  and  the  homes  to  be  all  they  should  be  to  the 
child.  This  is  the  teacher's  greatest  work,  and  success 
in  the  effort  will  become  his  greatest  triumph.  For  in 
the  restoration  of  the  home  to  its  prime  place  as  a  school, 
lies  the  hope  of  the  nation  and  of  the  church.  That  na- 
tion which  has  no  proper  homes  will  cease  to  be  a  nation, 
and  that  church  which  is  not  composed  of  Christian 
homes  is  no  church  of  Christ. 

To  do  this  work,  the  teacher  must  rely  not  so  much 
upon  lecture  as  upon  demonstration.  He  must  make 
his  school  a  home,  that  it  may  show  the  home  how  to 
be  a  school.  In  attempting  this,  he  may  not  be  able 
to  succeed  wholly.  Untoward  circumstances  or  his 
own  disabilities  may  make  his  effort  but  partially  suc- 
cessful; yet  by  the  degree  to  which  he  succeeds,  so  near 
is  he  to  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  so  much  is  his  school  a 
school  of  God.  If  he  shows  the  beauty  and  the  value 


246  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

of  a  country  environment,  if  he  establishes  the  dignity 
and  the  joy  of  labor  and  achievement,  if  he  inculcates 
the  virtues  of  obedience  and  good  cheer,  if  he  inspires 
the  spirit  of  service,  he  has  with  his  students  entered 
the  school  where  God  put  the  first  pupils  of  earth,  and 
where  he  will  establish  the  last  and  everlasting  university 
of  the  universe. 

The  school,  then,  that  seeks  to  do  God's  work  will 
be  a  school  not  merely  of  books,  but  of  work  and  of 
religion.  This  is  the  ideal  toward  which  the  schools  of 
the  rural  mission  system  aim.  As  an  illustration  of  their 
methods,  let  us  take  the  program  of  the  Shamrock 
School. 

It  is  in  the  early  spring,  and  the  neat  white  school- 
house  in  the  oaks  up  on  the  clay  hill  is  making  an  urgent 
call  to  the  boys  and  girls  of  the  neighborhood  for  a  term's 
work  before  they  must  get  down  to  solid  toil  in  the  corn 
fields,  the  tobacco  patches,  and  the  experimental  gardens. 
They  come,  from  the  youngster  of  six  to  the  youth  of 
twenty,  and  fill  the  two  rooms  of  the  little  schoolhouse 
to  overflowing.  No  tuition  is  required.  Thus  even  the 
children  of  the  poorest  are  welcomed  to  the  school. 
Three  teachers  there  are  belonging  to  the  schoolhouse, 
and  as  many  more  outside,  for  every  man  and  woman 
engaged  in  making  the  living,  in  house,  hi  sawmill,  or 
on  the  farm,  must  hold  himself  ready  to  teach  the  younger 
ones  the  things  he  is  doing. 

The  morning  session  is  literary  in  the  main,  though 
mingled  with  many  sounds  and  echoes  of  the  industrial 
work.  Mr.  Emmet,  the  principal,  opens  the  day  by  lead- 
ing the  school  in  religious  exercises  of  song  and  Scripture 
reading  —  or  sometimes  of  Scripture  recitation  —  and 
prayer.  The  Bible  classes  (Bible  history)  taught  by  him- 
self and  his  wife,  are  open  to  all,  though  not  obligatory, 
and  are  entered  by  practically  all  the  pupils.  The  quiet- 
ing, steadying,  character-developing  influence  of  Bible 
study  is  evident  in  the  daily  lives  of  the  students,  and 
the  leaven  is  observable  through  all  the  community. 


The  Schools  of  God  247 

The  Word  of  God  is  the  foundation  of  any  stable  school 
and  community,  as  also  of  the  home.  And  not  alone  in 
the  Bible  classes  is  the  Scripture  unfolded.  Its  precepts 
are  interwoven  in  all  the  instruction,  and  embodied  hi 
the  practises  of  the  school  and  the  lives  of  the  teachers. 
There,  indeed,  it  exerts  more  influence  even  than  in  the 
spoken  word. 

Mrs.  Emmet  carries  the  main  burden  of  the  upper 
classes,  while  her  sister,  Mabel  Ore,  is  engaged  with  the 
primary  pupils.  The  literary  work  of  the  school  is  not 
especially  peculiar  from  that  of  other  progressive  schools, 
though  distinguished  from  many  by  the  plentiful  em- 
ployment of  illustration  through  charts,  maps,  and  draw- 
ings, and  by  the  use  of  special  text-books  in  reading  and 
science,  which  shun,  on  the  one  hand,  the  myths,  fairy- 
tales, and  legends  of  paganism,  and  on  the  other  the  un- 
truths of  popular  science.  These  teachers  are  Chris- 
tians guided  in  their  teaching  by  a  firm  and  simple  faith 
in  the  Word  of  God. 

But  the  morning  hour  passes,  lunch  time  arrives 
and  is  passed;  then  come  the  industrial  classes.  While 
the  little  children,  below  the  age  of  twelve,  are  given 
drawing  and  practical,  homely  sloyd  —  sewing  and 
mending,  making  button  holes  and  matching  the  buttons 
to  them  —  besides  the  more  artistic  basket  weaving 
and  the  nerve-relaxing,  muscle-stretching  work  of  car- 
ing for  the  yard  and  the  garden,  the  older  students  are 
being  trained  in  the  higher  duties  of  home  and  field. 
The  boys  and  young  men  are  taken  into  the  field  and  the 
carpenter  shop.  They  all  know  how  to  hold  the  plow, 
and  they  may  need  only  instruction  as  to  the  benefits 
of  deeper  plowing  and  fertilizers  and  cover  crops,  but 
practical  work  they  must  have  in  propagating,  planting, 
and  pruning  fruit.  The  plants  they  set  are  watched  by 
the  class,  and  so  far  as  their  attendance  permits  are  cared 
for  by  them  through  the  season;  and  the  bearing  fruit 
trees  and  vines  which  they  prune  in  the  spring  give 
them  employment  in  the  fall  in  the  gathering  of  fruit, 


248  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

a  science  in  itself.  They  must  also  study  live  stock, 
and  the  school  furnishes  objects  for  study  in  its  sheep, 
goats,  cattle,  horses,  and  mules.  While  the  agriculture 
study  given  them  is  of  course  elementary,  it  is  never- 
theless intensely  practical.  It  is  the  same  education 
that  the  farm  home  used  to  give,  with  the  addition  of 
some  of  the  science  which  modern  study  has  added  to 
the  subject;  and,  primary  though  the  study  is,  it  is  the 
basis  for  a  thorough  work  to  be  concluded  later  in  the 
agricultural  college  or  at  least  conducted  in  the  agricul- 
tural books  and  papers  that  come  to  the  farmer. 

The  carpentry  work  has  been  partly  hi  the  shop, 
much  more  fully  on  the  buildings  —  the  cottages  and  the 
barns  which  the  school  has  been  erecting  from  time  to 
time.  This,  too,  is  of  the  most  practical  nature,  such  as 
the  home  would  naturally  furnish.  Some  fathers  in  some 
homes  do  give  this  instruction,  but  the  majority  do  not, 
and  in  all  cases  the  usually  superior  advantages  of  the 
teacher  make  the  school  instruction  valuable. 

The  first  half  hour  of  all  this  work  is  given  to  class 
study,  usually  out  of  doors,  under  the  trees,  or  in  the 
fields  and  orchards,  or  out  hi  the  pasture,  or  at  the 
bench,  or  before  the  building.  And  then  immediately 
comes  the  practical  application  of  the  instruction.  Six 
to  eight  boys  are  usually  handled  by  each  of  the  men 
teachers,  and  strict  attention  to  the  work  in  hand  is 
enforced,  the  same  as  in  the  schoolroom.  The  boys 
are  taught  that  this  work  means  as  much  in  the  develop- 
ment of  mind  and  character,  as  the  studies  conducted 
in  the  schoolroom,  or  possibly  more.  Their  conversation 
is  kept  upon  the  work  they  are  doing,  for  where  then- 
words  are,  there  then-  minds  will  be. 

The  girls,  meanwhile,  are  taken  by  Mrs.  Emmet 
and  Mrs.  Ore  into  the  teachers'  homes,  and  taught  the 
science  of  home-making.  While  the  greater  part  of  the 
girls'  industrial  work  comes  in  the  afternoon,  the  neces- 
sities of  housekeeping  and  cooking  require  some  work  in 
the  forenoon.  As  with  the  boys,  so  with  the  girls,  the 


The  Schools  of  God  249 

first  half  hour  is  given  to  the  study  of  the  work  they 
are  going  to  do.  Cooking  is  a  daily  practise,  for  certain 
ones  of  the  girls  are  detailed  each  day  to  get  the  din- 
ner for  the  school  family  under  the  leadership  of  their 
teachers.  And  practically  every  day  there  is  a  study  in 
the  science  of  cooking.  Charts  giving  food  values,  com- 
position, combinations,  etc.,  are  in  daily  consultation, 
as  well  as  the  cook-book;  and  schoolroom  classes,  such  as 
physiology  and  hygiene,  drawing,  and  arithmetic,  are 
closely  related  to  this  cooking  class.  Besides,  the  days 
devoted  to  certain  industries  have  studies  in  those  arts. 
For  instance,  on  Monday  the  girls  study  how  to  wash 
before  they  bend  over  the  tubs.  (And  incidentally, 
they  are  taught  that  it  belongs  to  the  men  to  furnish 
sufficient  water,  either  by  piping  it  to  the  house,  or  pump- 
ing it  up,  or  carrying  it  from  the  spring.)  On  Tuesday 
there  comes  a  study  in  ironing  while  the  irons  are  reach- 
ing the  exact  temperature.  Another  study  of  great  im- 
portance is  housekeeping:  sweeping,  scrubbing,  dusting, 
and  the  making  of  beds. 

The  work  is  divided  among  the  girls  in  each  home. 
One  girl  may  have  to  sweep  and  dust,  another  to  help 
with  the  dishes,  another  with  the  washing;  but  during 
the  term  every  girl  gets  her  experience  in  doing  the 
things  they  have  had  together  in  class  study.  The  girl 
who  bakes  bread  one  week  has  an  all-day  job  which  she 
must  attend  to  at  intervals.  The  making  of  light  bread 
is  an  art  highly  prized,  and  none  too  common,  in  the 
hills  and  mountains,  and  the  girl  who  can  carry  to  her 
home  the  perfect  art  of  breadmaking  has  brought  a  boon 
into  that  home  more  prized,  perhaps,  by  the  household 
than  any  other  practical  art. 

On  all  these  subjects,  domestic,  agricultural,  and 
mechanical,  examinations  are  held  periodically,  the  same 
as  for  other  studies,  and  the  industrial  branches  are  in 
every  way  put  on  a  par  with  the  literary  studies. 

While  not  a  few  highly  appreciate  this  kind  of  edu- 
cation, there  have  sometimes  been  parents,  naturally, 


250  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

who  objected  to  it.  They  held  the  ancient  doctrine 
that  children  go  to  school  to  "  learn  books/'  and  they  felt 
that  time  spent  in  living  practical  life  was  wasted  or 
unjustly  given  to  teachers  instead  of  to  parents.  Though 
the  parent  may  himself  be  extremely  impatient  about 
teaching  his  child  these  things,  because  he  thinks  the 
child  is  slow  and  dull,  or  careless  and  indifferent,  yet  it 
is  hard  to  convince  him  that  the  teacher  is  giving  more 
than  he  gets  out  of  the  labor  of  the  student.  What  every 
industrial  teacher  knows  as  an  axiom,  that  student  la- 
bor is  unprofitable  commercially,  is  a  truth  unknown 
to  some  parents.  But  as  the  Shamrock  School  charges 
no  tuition,  and  attendance  there  is  not  compulsory,  the 
teachers  are  in  a  position  to  say  that  if  objection  is  made 
by  the  parent,  he  has  the  privilege  of  taking  the  child 
out,  a  privilege  that  none  so  far  have  accepted. 

A  means  of  better  reaching  the  parent,  however, 
with  the  value  of  this  system,  is  found  in  the  monthly 
parents'  meetings  held  at  this  school.  Some  schools 
hold  them  more  frequently.  There  the  problems  of  the 
home  are  studied,  the  parents'  perplexities  may  be  brought 
forth,  and  instruction  from  the  Word  of  God,  from 
other  good  books,  or  from  the  teachers'  experience, 
is  applied.  The  betterment  of  the  home,  in  material  as 
well  as  in  social  and  spiritual  matters,  is  also  studied, 
and  this  interchange  of  thought  and  this  social  contact 
are  powerful  factors  in  uniting  parents  and  teachers. 
In  regard  to  the  industrial  features,  parents  are  taught 
to  see  that  while  school  and  work  have  been  popularly 
divorced,  it  is  in  God's  plan  that  they  be  closely  united, 
and  that  the  teachers,  while  professing  no  greater  ability 
than  the  parents  to  teach  the  child,  must  nevertheless 
unite  the  three  features  of  education,  piety,  literature, 
and  useful  labor  so  as  to  give  the  child  a  rational  philoso- 
phy of  the  life  he  is  being  educated  to  live.  The  home, 
they  are  taught,  is  to  be  a  school,  and  the  school  a  home. 
They  are  urged  to  bring  into  the  home  every  element 
of  the  school  which  they  can,  and  thus  make  themselves 


The  Schools  of  God 


251 


the  teachers  in  greater  and  greater  degree  of  their  chil- 
dren. This  view  appeals  to  the  parent,  the  most  intelli- 
gent and  the  most  ignorant,  and  the  influence  of  this 
teaching  and  practise  has  become  very  evident  in  the 
community,  in  better  and  more  attractive  homes,  and 
hi  some  cases  in  a  closer  union  between  parent  and  teacher. 
It  is  the  ideal  of  the  school,  not  to  separate  parent  and 
child  by  a  gulf  between  learning  and  ignorance,  but  to 
make  each  the  helper  and  supporter  of  the  other;  for 
service  to  the  lowly  as  well  as  to  the  great  is  the  maxim 
of  the  kingdom  of  Christ. 


XXII 

THE    MOUNTAIN    CHILD    AND    THE 
WORLD 

NARROW  and  broad  are  relative  terms;  and,  accord- 
ing to  standard,  the  views  of  every  man  may  be 
either  narrow  or  broad.  In  God's  view  we  are  all  narrow, 
for  our  knowledge  is  confined  mostly  to  this  round  ball 
on  which  we  live.  My  nearest  neighbors,  indeed,  dif- 
fer from  me  in  not  believing  that  we  live  on  any  ball 
whatever.  They  maintain,  with  much  show  of  scriptural 
authority,  that  the  earth  is  flat  and  stationary,  while 
the  sun  moves  around  it;  for  does  not  the  Bible  declare 
that  the  sun  stood  still  when  so  commanded  by  Joshua? 
Likewise,  they  scout  much  of  the  information  I  have 
laboriously  gathered  from  books  and  hearsay.  They 
refuse  to  believe  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  a  canni- 
bal. Did  I  ever  see  a  man  eat  another  man?  Then  how 
do  I  know!  Who  says  there  is  no  water  on  the  moon? 
Has  any  one  ever  journeyed  there  to  see?  Also,  they  be- 
lieve in  "ha'nts,"  and  I  despair  of  convincing  them  of 
their  unreality,  for  they  would  receive  no  testimony  as 
final  save  that  of  disembodied  spirits. 

Yet  what  right  have  I  to  call  my  views  broad  and 
theirs  narrow?  If  measured  by  the  standard  of  the  uni- 
verse, the  comparative  difference  in  width  would  be 
infinitesimal,  and  whether  my  views  or  my  mountaineer 
neighbors7  would  be  ahead,  I  cannot  say.  The  most  I 
(252) 


The  Mountain  Child  and  the  World       253 

can  say  is  that  there  is  a  difference  in  direction.  I  may 
consider  myself  capable  of  teaching  them  geography, 
but  they,  on  the  other  hand,  rightly  regard  themselves 
as  able  to  instruct  me  in  a  horse  deal.  If  I  (supposedly) 
overtop  them  in  height  of  knowledge,  they  outdo  me 
in  wealth  of  heart.  And  I  believe  that  my  only  hope 
of  enriching  them  with  knowledge  is  first  to  share,  till 
I  can  exceed,  in  the  riches  of  love.  They  will  listen  to 
one  they  love. 

The  mountains  have  all  classes,  rich  and  poor,  cul- 
tured, learned,  and  ignorant.  When,  therefore,  we  speak 
of  the  mountain  child  and  his  relation  to  the  world, 
we  must  consider  several  classes.  First,  there  are  the 
children  of  the  wealthy,  who  have  all  the  advantages, 
not  only  of  common  education,  but  of  travel  and  broad 
social  life.  Their  knowledge  and  measure  of  the  world  are 
in  no  sense  peculiar.  Second,  there  are  the  children  of 
the  cities  and  other  communities  where  the  schools  and 
other  public  utilities  are  the  best.  Whether  for  good  or 
ill,  their  advantages  differ  little  from  those  of  the  chil- 
dren of  other  sections  with  the  same  advantages. 

But  traveling  down  through  a  succession  of  less 
favored  classes,  we  reach  the  child  of  the  isolated  moun- 
tain community,  either  far  away  in  some  valley  or  cove, 
or  up  on  some  plateau,  where  the  world  is  bounded  by 
a  horizon  but  few  miles  away.  To  such  children  even 
the  blessing  of  literacy  gives  only  a  limited  field;  for  the 
figures  and  allusions  of  literature  are  often  but  dimly  if 
at  all  comprehensible  to  them.  The  mental  life  of  their 
community  furnishes  no  stimulus  to  imagination,  and 
the  stories  of  the  Bible,  of  secular  history,  or  of  chance 
travelers,  are  localized  within  the  narrow  rim  of  the 
child's  experience,  or  left  altogether  outside,  uncompre- 
hended.  As  illustrating  the  character  of  the  teacher's 
work  under  such  conditions,  we  are  privileged  to  quote 
from  a  report  by  one  of  them  at  a  convention  of  rural 
school  workers: 

"We  first  met  our  new  neighbors  in  a  Sunday  school 


254  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

about  a  mile  away,  and,  owing  to  a  previous  introduc- 
tion, my  husband  was  invited  to  take  the  Bible  class, 
and  the  younger  members  were  tinned  over  to  me,  and 
I  was  supposed  to  do  something  with  them  till  they 
were  through  asking  questions  over  hi  the  Bible  class. 
But  had  I  stopped  half  an  hour  before,  the  children 
would  have  waited  quietly  without  pinching  or  prick- 
ing or  doing  one  of  the  many  impolite  things  any  other 
children  I  ever  taught  would  have  done. 

"I  can  hardly  describe  to  you  the  difficulty  I  met  in 
trying  to  really  present  to  them  the  lesson,  to  really  bring 
before  them  a  mental  picture  of  it.  We  were  studying 
the  book  of  Matthew.  Take,  for  instance,  the  '  Stilling 
of  the  Tempest/  Saying,  '  Jesus  went  into  a  boat/ 
meant  little  to  them.  They  never  had  seen  a  boat  or 
hardly  heard  of  one.  A  picture  would  help  somewhat, 
to  be  sure.  'And  started  across  the  lake,  when  a  mighty 
storm  came  up/  But  they  have  no  mental  picture  of 
the  lake.  I  might  say,  'Well,  you've  all  seen  a  " branch," 
and  have  been  wading  in  it.  Suppose  it  were  deep  enough 
to  cover  these  tallest  pine  trees  and  as  wide  as  from  here 
to  that  far  brow  of  the  mountain.  And  if  the  water  were 
standing  still,  as  youVe  seen  it  in  big  puddles  after  a 
rain,  it  would  be  a  lake.  When  the  storm  raged  upon 
the  lake,  the  water  looked  rough  and  white  like  the 
"Big  Falls,"  or  like  a  "swillin  bullin,"'—  a  name  the 
children  gave  to  water  backed  up  hi  the  spring  during 
a  heavy  rain,  derived,  I  suppose,  from  "swelling  billows." 

"And  so  I  had  to  invent  and  contrive  to  make  for 
them  anything  of  a  mental  picture  of  the  lesson  story. 
But  by  the  answers  and  looks  of  animation  that  crept 
into  some  of  the  faces,  I  knew,  in  time,  that  I  was  at 
least  partly  succeeding. 

"Other  work  pressing  upon  us  made  it  impossible 
to  attend  this  school  very  long,  but  the  short  connec- 
tion with  it  confirmed  our  belief  that  schoolroom  work 
should  be  one  of  our  first  efforts. 

"It  was  easy  to  find  the  'work,'  but  where  was  the 


The  Mountain  Child  and  the  World      255 

'room'?  After  a  deal  of  careful  study  of  the  problem, 
we  went  down  to  the  little  16  x  24  canner  building  by 
the  spring,  nailed  some  boards  over  the  most  open 
places,  put  in  four  small  half-window  sashes,  packed 
the  canning  outfit  up  in  one  corner,  took  down  the  shelf 
used  by  the  solderer,  and  put  up  a  smaller  one  to  be 
used  by  the  teacher,  borrowed  some  wobbly  benches 
from  the  public  school  building  a  mile  away,  brought  in 
plenty  of  cedar  and  golden  rod,  and  opened  school. 

"My  husband  had  expressed  some  serious  misgivings 
as  to  the  wisdom  of  requiring  the  children  to  use  their 
eyes  in  such  a  poorly  lighted  place,  but  we  were  some- 
what encouraged  to  try  when  a  young  man  who  was 
assisting  in  the  preparation  remarked,  'Well,  one  thing's 
sure,  you-all  will  have  plenty  of  light  in  your  school.' 
Four  little  streams  of  light  coming  through  glass  into  one 
room  was  more  than  he  had  ever  seen  in  that  region 
before. 

"  There  were  just  six  pupils  enrolled  that  first  morning, 
besides  the  three  little  natives  we  then  claimed  as  our 
own,  two  of  whom  were  too  young  to  enter  as  regular 
students.  But  we  sang,  and  I  believe  with  something 
of  the  spirit  and  understanding,  'I'm  so  glad  that  Je- 
sus said,  Let  the  children  come  to  me.'  And  it  seemed 
as  though  the  birds  and  the  breezes  took  up  the  song. 
So  the  children  came,  until  in  two  weeks  there  were 
twenty-one  enrolled,  and  that  was  the  limit  of  accommo- 
dation. But  the  spirit  in  which  they  came  was  the 
notable  feature.  One  burly  little  fellow  who  expected 
one  or  two  whippings  a  day  every  one  of  the  few  days 
of  public  school,  came  there  as  docile  as  a  little  lamb, 
and  seemed  childishly  happy  and  contented  every  mo- 
ment. Boys  and  girls  who  squirted  tobacco  juice  right 
and  left  when  at  home,  did  not  soil  the  rough  boards 
in  the  canner  schoolhouse,  as  we  called  it,  with  one  little 
drop. 

"I  chose  for  the  central  thought  of  the  school  work 
—  or  I  might  say  for  my  motto  — '  Importance  of  obe- 


256  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

dience  to  law/  For  I  was  in  a  community  where  too 
many  knew  no  higher  law  than  their  own  caprice  or  the 
tradition  of  their  fathers.  I  never  gave  the  words  of 
my  text  to  the  children,  but  sought  to  bring  them  fre- 
quent illustrations,  as,  for  instance,  the  many  examples 
nature  was  affording  us  at  that  time  of  year.  We  found, 
by  marking  on  the  floor  at  noon,  the  point  the  sun 
reached,  that  he  was  gradually  traveling  south,  and  that 
this  was  his  obedience  to  the  law  given  him  to  'be  for 
signs,  for  seasons,  for  days,  and  for  years/ 

"The  teacher's  shelf  was  filled  often  to  overflowing 
with  things  brought  in  by  the  children,  as  nuts,  beans, 
corn,  etc.,  as  illustrations  of  herbs  '  bearing  seed  after 
their  kind,  whose  seed  was  in  itself/  And  in  harmony 
with  a  great  universal  law,  not  written  in  books,  nor  dic- 
tated by  man,  every  one  of  these,  along  with  many  ani- 
mals and  birds,  were  preparing  for  the  decreed  winter. 
Disobedience  to  this  law  meant  hardship,  if  not  death. 

"  Because  we  were  handling  so  many  good  things 
to  eat  in  our  nature  work,  we  began  physiology  (largely 
oral  work)  with  the  digestive  system,  and  discovered  a 
few  simple,  inexorable  laws  of  digestion  and  chemistry; 
and  as  we  were  studying  the  Bible  by  course,  we  came 
in  time  to  the  giving  of  the  law  in  Sinai,  and  a  few  of 
the  older  ones  learned  the  Ten  Commandments,  and  all 
came  to  enjoy  that  sweet  hymn,  'How  Gentle  God's 
Commands/ 

"Thrown  in  parenthetically  at  Thanksgiving  time, 
we  had  an  illustration  of  the  bondage  of  cruel  human 
law  in  the  story  of  the  Pilgrims.  The  story  was  all  so 
new  to  them,  but  evidently  very  interesting.  But  it 
was  no  stranger  to  them  than  facts  about  then*  own 
State  and  county.  We  had  a  simple  little  Thanksgiving 
program,  and  the  older  members  of  our  family  came  down 
to  help  with  the  music.  We  had  learned  to  sing  'America/ 
so  after  helping  us  with  that,  they  gave  us  'Dixie/  but 
even  it  was  as  new  and  strange  to  those  little  mountain- 
eers as  the  Pilgrim  story. 


The  Mountain  Child  and  the  World      257 

"In  place  of  dictated  physical  culture  work,  they 
sometimes  played  the  animating  game  of  'dare  base/ 
which  I  had  taught  them.  (They  seemed  to  know  no 
games, —  had  not  even  felt  the  ball  craze.)  We  held 
ten-minute  parliamentary  sessions  three  times  a  week, 
and  made  our  own  code  or  rules  for  the  game,  elected 
a  secretary,  and  did  things  in  a  lawful  manner.  They 
cleared  a  little  place,  and  made  careful  measurements 
for  the  bases.  It  was  very  interesting  to  note  how  much 
they  enjoyed  being  law-abiding. 

"At  Christmas  time  we  prepared  a  little  more  elabo- 
rate program,  though  still  very  simple  and  crude.  Our 
little  room  could  hold  no  more,  and  so  we  took  our  organ 
and  stove,  and  went  over  to  the  public  school  building, 
and  with  mistletoe  and  cedar,  mottoes  and  decorations, 
Miss  W.  transformed  the  place  into  a  thing  of  beauty. 
There  were  two  Christmas  trees,  hung  with  candles, 
apples,  bright  bags  of  popcorn  and  nuts  and  a  few  in- 
expensive little  gifts  we  were  able  to  prepare,  and  some 
others  were  brought  in  by  the  people,  besides  a  sample 
of  canned  stuff  for  every  family  in  the  neighborhood. 

"It  was  really  a  bitter  cold  night,  but  the  house  was 
full.  We  sent  what  extra  clothes  we  could  spare  to 
some  of  the  poorer  neighbors  to  enable  them  to  come. 
One  flock  of  children  came  to  ride  over  with  us  —  the 
girls  of  four  and  six  wearing  old  worsted  basques  for 
cloaks,  and  with  bare  knees.  And  so  they  came  hi  all 
kinds  of  apparel,  and  listened  to  every  word  of  the  pro- 
gram with  deepest  interest.  The  faces  of  the  parents 
whose  children  took  part,  fairly  beamed  with  delight. 
It  was  the  first  experience  of  the  kind  to  the  children, 
and  they  certainly  did  themselves  credit. 

"It  seemed  to  me  I  should  freeze  stiff  before  it  was 
out,  but  at  the  close  one  woman  said,  'I  didn't  think 
about  the  cold.  I  wish  it  had  been  longer.  I  could  sit 
and  listen  to  such  as  that  all  night.7 

"The  wonders  of  that  evening  were  talked  about  for 
miles  around.  The  strangest  of  all  was,  no  one  had 

17 


258  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

gotten  drunk,  there  was  no  whiskey  passed  around  or 
pistols  shot  off,  and  the  simple  little  songs  and  poems 
and  stories  of  the  Babe  in  the  manger  and  the  guiding 
star,  had  touched  a  chord  in  then*  souls  that  they  en- 
joyed having  played  upon. 

"The  home  life  of  a  large  majority  of  these  people 
is  almost  a  blank  in  the  sense  in  which  we  think  of  the 
word  "home."  In  so  many  instances  it  is  to  them 
merely  a  place  where  they  warm  themselves  (one  side 
at  a  time),  'lay  down'  at  night,  and  get  something 
to  eat. 

"We  are  instructed,  when  entering  a  field  like  this, 
to  '  begin  by  correcting  the  physical  habits  of  the  people/ 
'Physical  habits'  must  mean  then1  manner  of  eating, 
sleeping,  dressing,  treating  then-  sick,  and  general  habits 
of  home  life.  And  we  asked  ourselves,  'How  can  we  hope 
to  correct  their  habits  along  these  lines?  Simply  to  tell 
them  they  are  doing  all  these  things  in  almost  the  worst 
way,  will  do  no  good  unless  we  provide  for  a  better  way 
and  teach  it  to  them. 

"The  calls  already  coming  opened  the  way  for  a 
physician  and  a  visiting  nurse  to  deal  with  one  phase 
of  this  work,  and  it  could  be  self-supporting,  though 
but  little  more  than  that.  In  the  physiology,  cooking, 
and  sewing  classes,  the  how  of  the  other  phases  could 
be  taught,  but  what  use  to  teach  the  value  of  fruit  as 
an  article  of  diet,  and  the  best  manner  of  preparing 
vegetables,  grains,  etc.,  when  the  home  larder  provided 
nothing  but  pork  and  corn  meal  and  tea?  And  that 
was  often  the  actual  condition. 

"No,  the  school  work  must  go  farther,  and  teach 
them  how  to  make  the  land  (and  nearly  every  man  owns 
a  good-sized  farm  of  woodland)  yield  them  a  proper 
dietary. 

"Take,  for  instance,  the  tomato.  Let  it  be  studied 
in  the  nature  class  from  a  botanical  standpoint,  its 
value  as  a  food  and  conditions  of  growth  considered, 
hot-beds  made  and  seeds  planted  by  the  students,  and 


The  Mountain  Child  and  the  World      259 

a  piece  of  ground  properly  prepared  and  some  plants 
set  on  the  school  farm;  but  also  let  each  student  have 
a  piece  of  ground  at  home  which  he  prepares  just  as 
the  class  do  the  one  at  school,  and  then  give  or  sell  him 
at  a  low  price,  plants  enough  to  set  his  land.  The 
teacher  ought  to  be  free  to  visit  these  gardens  often. 
When  the  crop  matures  let  the  school  canner  can  his 
fruit  on  shares.  He  then  has  one  healthful  thing  put 
away  for  winter.  If  he  grows  more  than  he  can  use, 
the  canner  may  sell  the  surplus  for  him,  and  the  teacher 
in  nearly  every  instance  can  control  the  use  of  the 
money,  especially  if  he  requires  the  pupil  to  keep 
a  '  Garden  Book/  and  is  teaching,  as  may  be  done  even 
in  the  lowest  grades,  the  keeping  of  simple  accounts. 
The  money  will  be  spent  for  books,  clothes,  etc.,  rather 
than  for  tobacco.  Other  fruits  and  vegetables  could  be 
dealt  with  in  a  similar  manner.  The  school  farm  and 
canner  must  help  in  'correcting  the  physical  habits/ 

"In  spite  of  all  the  difficulties,  the  work  there  has 
steadily  won  the  interest  and  confidence  of  those  dear 
superstitious,  tradition-ridden,  hospitable  people.  I 
have  never  worked  among  a  class  more  needy,  but  at 
the  same  time  one  which  yielded  better  results  for  a  given 
expenditure  of  energy  and  material.  They  have  a  la- 
tent love  of  the  beautiful  and  appreciation  of  what  counts 
for  the  highest  and  best  in  life;  and  in  spite  of  then- 
poor  English,  their  tobacco-stained  faces,  and  then1  un- 
couth garb,  they  possess  a  true  refinement  which  might 
silence  any  boasting  of  superiority  from  the  average 
well-dressed  city  boy  and  girl,  or  man  and  woman. 
These  mountain  brothers  and  sisters  of  ours  are  true 
Americans,  independent  and  highly  sensitive  to  any 
suggestions  of  non-equality." 

Many,  though  not  all,  of  the  rural  mission  schools 
are  operating  under  somewhat  similar  conditions.  The 
work  of  a  teacher  in  such  a  case  is  the  most  delicate 
given  to  men.  His  must  be  a  nice  touch,  a  sensitive  per- 
ception. To  enlighten  and  broaden  without  wounding, 


260  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

to  inspire  and  lead  to  higher  things  while  still  keeping 
in  contact  with  the  conditions  and  the  needs  about 
him,  is  an  accomplishment  for  which  only  the  wisdom 
of  the  Master  Teacher  is  sufficient.  But  the  teachers' 
hearts  are  cheered  with  a  sight  of  the  results.  Some  of 
the  North  Carolina  schools  can  point  with  satisfaction 
to  graduates  in  various  occupations,  from  farmers  and 
mechanics  to  ministers  and  physicians.  One  is  a  mis- 
sionary in  Africa.  The  first  of  the  Madison  out-schools, 
the  Oak  Grove  School,  though  but  a  few  years  old, 
numbers  among  its  graduates  several  teachers.  One  of 
them — a  fine,  manly  young  fellow — has  been  for  several 
years  principal  of  a  graded  school  in  the  valley.  He 
came  at  the  first  session  of  Mr.  Alden's  school,  knowing 
nothing  of  grammar  and  not  so  much  as  common  frac- 
tions in  arithmetic.  His  mental  progress  was  rapid,  but 
his  advance  in  moral  and  religious  matters  was  most 
interesting.  Early  in  his  school  life  he  was  introduced, 
as  are  all  the  older  pupils,  to  the  custom  of  occasionally 
leading  the  school  hi  its  devotional  exercises.  The  natu- 
ral reverence  of  the  hill  child  deepened  in  him,  and  though 
he  was  undemonstrative,  and  therefore  not  specially 
a  leader  hi  the  church,  his  sturdiness  of  character  was 
recognized  throughout  the  community,  and  he  was  a 
silent  power  for  good. 

But  one  habit,  which  seemed  ineradicable,  troubled 
his  conscience.  He  had  used  tobacco  from  his  early 
childhood,  and  though  thoroughly  convinced  from  the 
studies  hi  the  school  that  it  was  doing  him  harm  bodily 
and  mentally,  and  though  he  tried  various  plans  to 
rid  himself  of  it  —  tapering  off,  and  using  anti-tobacco 
remedies  —  he  could  not  cure  himself.  He  finally  began 
teaching  in  the  valley,  and,  determined  to  make  him- 
self an  example  to  his  pupils,  he  began  a  rigid  limiting 
of  his  allowance,  till  at  Christmas  time  he  was  down  to 
"three  chews  a  week."  But  he  could  get  no  further, 
and  came  in  great  distress  to  Mr.  Alden,  who  had  now 
been  laboring  with  him  especially  for  two  years  to  give 


The  Mountain  Child  and  the  World      261 

up  his  tobacco.  Mr.  Alden  told  him  he  could  not  do 
it  by  degrees,  nor  by  his  own  strength;  he  must  settle 
the  matter  by  prayer,  and  then  take  the  plug  he  was 
chewing  and  throw  it  away  forever.  The  young  man 
followed  the  advice  to  the  letter.  He  was  plowing  in 
the  field  at  home  the  next  day,  and  suddenly  coming 
to  the  resolution,  he  threw  himself  on  his  knees  by  his 
plow,  and  prayed  for  deliverance.  Then  he  rose,  took 
his  plug  from  his  pocket,  and  threw  it  as  far  as  he  could. 
His  taste  for  tobacco  left  him  that  moment,  and  he  has 
been  free  ever  since.  His  activity  in  religious  matters 
has  greatly  increased.  He  is  now  not  only  a  leader  in 
the  Sunday  school,  but  in  the  prayer-meeting,  while 
pushing  on  in  his  profession  and  winning  golden  opinions 
from  his  educational  superiors. 

The  teachers  who  take  such  boys  from  the  pit  wherein 
they  have  been  mired,  see  in  such  victories  an  evidence 
of  spiritual  as  well  as  of  physical  progress.  The  one  who 
begins  a  " spiritual"  life  with  the  handicap  of  evil 
physical  habits  will  have  a  hard  time  to  maintain  spiri- 
tuality. The  farther,  the  faster  he  overcomes  physical 
evil,  the  more  rapidly  do  his  conception  of  truth  and 
his  living  of  truth  progress.  Every  victory  gained, 
every  step  forward,  is  so  much  more  received  of  the 
character  of  Christ,  and  if  that  course  is  unfalteringly 
pursued,  it  will  end  in  the  imprint  of  the  seal  of  God 
upon  a  perfect  character. 


XXIII 

VICE  AND  VICTORY 

THE  main  purpose  of  the  Christian  school,  in  its  work 
both  for  the  children  and  for  the  grown  people  of 
the  community,  is  to  lift  to  a  higher  life  in  body  and  mind, 
It  seeks  by  teaching  and  inspiration  to  rid  the  people 
of  vices  great  and  small,  that  they  may  become  true  Chris- 
tians and  earnest  workers  for  Christ.  In  the  mountain 
and  hill  schools  the  great  and  almost  universal  vice  is 
the  use  of  tobacco,  especially  in  its  two  most  loath- 
some forms,  chewing  and  snuff-dipping.  The  extent  to 
which  this  habit  dwarfs  and  stupefies  the  mind  is  re- 
sponsible for  not  a  little  of  the  backwardness  and  the 
blunted  moral  sense  with  which  the  teacher  has  to  deal. 
Little  boys  six  and  eight  years  old  not  infrequently  are 
found  with  the  quid  puffing  out  their  lean  cheeks,  and 
little  girls  of  as  tender  age  are  proud  to  hold  the  snuff- 
stick  between  their  stained  lips. 

The  standard  is,  indeed,  rising,  and  in  many  commu- 
nities women  who  are  desirous  of  social  respect  are 
ashamed  of  the  habit  of  snuff-dipping,  while  men  are 
making  the  dubious  advance  of  substituting  the  cigarette 
for  the  plug;  but  as  yet  in  the  outskirts  of  the  moun- 
tain country  this  is  not  so,  and  the  teaching  that  tobacco 
is  bad  comes  as  a  curious  doctrine  to  many  a  mountain- 
eer who,  even  when  a  willing  disciple,  often  needs 
continual  instruction  and  correction.  To  the  Eden  Val- 
(262) 


Vice  and  Victory  263 

ley  School,  hidden  behind  the  high  mountains  of  a 
North  Carolina  district,  came  a  man  with  his  family 
from  an  adjoining  county,  who  from  reading  had  begun 
to  keep  the  Sabbath.  There  had  been  many  things 
to  teach  him,  and  little  time  for  instruction,  but  he 
was  watching  for  every  point  of  faith  and  practise  that 
he  could  find.  On  Sabbath,  when  Mr.  Nelson  with  his 
wife  went  down  to  this  man's  house  on  the  lower  part 
of  the  school  farm,  the  new  convert  offered  him  a  pipe. 
Mr.  Nelson  quietly  refused,  with  thanks,  and  the  man, 
wondering  within  himself,  concluded  that  it  was  not 
right  to  smoke  on  Sabbath.  He  himself  therefore  re- 
frained during  the  day,  but  as  soon  as  the  sun  went 
down,  he  got  out  his  pipe  and  began  to  smoke.  Again 
he  offered  the  visitor  tobacco,  but  this  time  was  informed 
that  Adventists  never  used  it.  In  a  few  words  answers 
were  given  to  his  questions,  and,  convinced  that  tobacco 
was  harniful,  he  immediately  threw  his  into  the  fire,  as 
his  wife  did  her  snuff,  and  thereafter  they  did  not 
touch  the  weed. 

It  has  been  a  question  with  the  teachers  in  the  hill 
schools  exactly  what  position  they  ought  to  take  in  re- 
gard to  the  use  of  tobacco  by  their  pupils.  On  the  one 
hand,  the  injury  to  mind  and  body,  and  the  nauseous 
character  of  the  habit,  incline  the  teacher  absolutely 
to  prohibit  it;  on  the  other  hand,  too  early  and  abrupt 
a  prohibition  might  result  in  turning  away  unreformed 
many  a  pupil  who  by  more  gradual  means  could  be  re- 
claimed. It  has  therefore  been  the  more  general  prac- 
tise to  prohibit  the  use  of  tobacco  within  the  schoolhouse, 
appealing  therein  to  the  students'  sense  of  cleanliness  and 
desire  to  progress,  while  leaving  its  use  on  the  school 
grounds  and  elsewhere  to  be  affected  by  the  studies  of 
the  school  in  physiology,  hygiene,  and  moral  laws. 

At  the  Eden  Valley  School,  which  shares  with  few 
others  the  distinction  of  ministering  to  the  most  isolated 
and  unprivileged  classes,  the  beautiful  new  school- 
house,  clean  and  attractive,  with  its  white  walls  artis- 


264  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

tically  relieved  by  pictures,  maps,  and  the  drawing  and 
sloyd  work  of  the  school,  there  is  a  resistless  esthetic 
appeal  to  the  children  who  come  —  many  of  them  — 
from  dingy,  crowded,  and  unlovely  homes.  Though 
on  the  school  grounds  at  recess,  or  in  the  afternoon  in- 
dustrial classes,  there  may  here  and  there  be  detected  on 
children's  breaths  the  unspeakable  stench  of  the  mo- 
lasses-filled "  store  plug,"  or  the  less  offensive  smell 
of  the  home  "dry  twist,"  in  the  schoolroom  there  is 
never  spot  nor  stain  from  the  unhallowed  thing. 

At  the  infrequent  times  when  the  school  entertains 
a  visitor  from  the  outside  world,  and  he  is  announced 
to  speak  publicly,  the  news,  carried  far  and  wide  by  the 
children,  fills  the  big  main  room  of  the  schoolhouse  to 
its  fullest  capacity,  with  eager,  open-eyed  children, 
with  parents  slower  of  motion  and  duller  of  eye,  along 
with  the  groups  of  swaggering  youth  and  shy-faced 
maidens  inevitable  in  every  rural  community.  But 
though  in  then*  own  church  and  social  gatherings  the 
older  ones  are  used  to  the  free  exercise  of  the  right  of 
expectoration,  and  sometimes  to  regular  journeyings 
of  the  whiskey-bottle,  the  firing  of  guns  outside,  and  a 
few  private  or  free-for-all  fights,  up  here  at  the  "school 
on  the  hill"  they  are  as  well  behaved,  attentive,  and  cour- 
teous, as  at  the  best-ordered  Episcopal  service  in  the 
city,  and  not  a  sight  and  scarcely  a  smell  of  tobacco  is 
to  be  found.  The  influence  of  the  school,  its  principles 
and  its  practise,  is  telling. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Arthur,  the  teachers,  tell  of  this  one 
and  that  one  and  the  other,  five  or  six  in  all,  who  during 
the  year  have  quietly  forsaken  the  habit  of  tobacco- 
using,  constantly  swelling  the  numbers  of  the  band  of 
defenders  around  the  school  principles.  These  principles, 
given  in  precept  in  the  schoolroom,  and  reinforced  and 
exemplified  in  the  students'  life  with  the  teachers  in 
home,  field,  and  woods  —  for  all  the  local  as  well  as 
boarding  students  take  the  industrial  classes  in  the  after- 
noon—  are  setting  before  them  ideals  of  life  that  lift 


Vice  and  Victory  265 

them  above  the  sordid  pleasures  symbolized  by  the 
birch  twig  and  the  tin  tag. 

While  the  Visitor  was  there,  one  evening  there  came 
in  the  mail  from  a  Chicago  friend  a  postal  order  for  two 
dollars,  with  the  explanation  that  it  was  "  bribe  money." 
This  suggestion  of  Chicago  graft  at  work  so  far  from 
home  interested  the  Visitor,  who  straightway  made  in- 
quiry as  to  the  nature  of  the  bribes.  Nurse  Bryan 
explained  that  the  term  was  coined  hi  Chicago  to  fit 
her  description  of  Mis'  Margaret's  operations  on  the  to- 
bacco problem. 

One  little  eight-year-old  boy,  a  "  woods-colt,"  who 
had  found  refuge  in  the  " school  on  the  hill"  from  the 
taunts  of  his  child  companions,  was  beggarly  furnished 
with  shoes  and  hat.  The  mud  and  water  oozed  in  through 
his  broken  soles,  while  his  old  felt  hat  served  less  to 
cover  his  red  thatched  head  than  to  hide  his  blue  eyes. 
Mis'  Margaret  found  means  to  supply  the  needed  ar- 
ticles from  the  stock  of  " imported  goods"  and  from 
her  own  meager  purse,  and  the  little  fellow  thereafter, 
with  dog-like  devotion,  trod  in  her  foot-prints,  with  an 
eye  for  every  little  personal  service  he  could  discover. 
His  grateful  devotion  was  touching;  and  it  sprung  an 
idea  into  Mis'  Margaret's  head.  From  his  mother  no 
less  than  from  his  companions  he  had  learned  to  chew, 
and  the  quid  was  seldom  absent  from  his  mouth  outside 
school  hours. 

" Henry,"  said  Mis'  Margaret  one  day,  "do  you  want 
to  do  something  that  would  please  me  very  much?" 

"Sure  I  will,  Mis'  Margaret,"  was  his  ready  response. 

"Then  promise  me  never  to  use  tobacco  any  more." 

It  was  a  request  for  half  his  kingdom;  but  he  had 
given  the  word  of  a  king.  The  struggle  was  short.  He 
knew  the  principle  of  the  thing;  the  school  had  taught 
him  the  harm  of  tobacco;  but  he  had  grown  up  with  it, 
and  never  yet  had  found  his  boyish  stock  of  courage 
great  enough  to  throw  it  away.  Now  his  blue  eyes 
shifted  from  Mis'  Margaret's  face,  wandered  down  the  hill, 


266  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

across  the  valley,  and  away  to  the  far-off  heights.  Be- 
fore his  eyes,  perhaps,  stood  out  the  motto  on  the  school- 
room wall,  "I  will  lift  up  mine  eyes  to  the  hills,  whence 
cometh  my  help."  From  those  far  hills,  at  least,  his 
gaze  came  back  to  the  eyes  of  his  teacher.  It  was  only  a 
minute  before  he  said,  simply,  "I  will,  Mis'  Margaret." 
Slowly  he  drew  the  "dry  twist"  from  his  pocket,  and  with 
a  quick  fling  sent  it  spinning  down  the  steep  hill.  He 
did  not  touch  tobacco  after  that. 

When  he  went  home  and  told  his  mother  what  he 
had  promised,  there  was  another  convert;  for,  as  she 
afterwards  told  the  teacher,  "I  thought  that  if  Henry 
was  a-goin'  to  fight  that  fight,  he  couldn't  see  me  around 
dippin'  an'  chewin'.  His  mother  ain't  a-goin'  to  be  a 
millstone  hangin'  round  his  neck."  Girl  victim  of  man's 
passion  and  cowardice  though  she  had  been,  and  slave 
besides  to  the  most  nauseous  of  vices,  she  had  played 
a  mother's  part  to  this  boy  of  hers  as  best  she  knew 
how,  and  now  she  answered  the  next  appeal  to  her  mother- 
hood, and  stepped  one  step  higher  with  her  son. 

Another  little  chap  there  was  in  the  school  whom 
ordinary  bribes  would  not  affect.  His  mother,  though 
she  herself  used  snuff,  had  offered  to  get  him  a  new  pan* 
of  shoes  if  he  would  quit  chewing;  and  his  uncle  promised 
him  a  flour-sack  full  of  candy.  But  he  shook  his  head; 
he  loved  his  plug. 

But  he  also  loved  music.  He  had  a  rare  talent, 
indeed,  for  it;  and  voice  or  organ,  but  especially  piano, 
would  charm  him  almost  into  heaven.  He  knew  by 
heart  half  a  hundred  songs,  and  his  voice  rang  out  the 
cheeriest  in  the  morning  exercises  of  the  school.  One 
day,  after  school,  he  was  telling  his  teacher  of  the  bribes 
his  relatives  had  offered  him,  and  of  then-  failure. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  give  you,  Charley,  if  you'll 
quit  tobacco,"  said  Mis'  Margaret. 

"What?"  And  the  shrewd  speculation  of  the  moun- 
taineer showed  in  his  eyes. 

"I'll  teach  you  to  play  the  piano,"  she  said. 


Vice  and  Victory  267 

"Will  you?"  His  voice  rang  with  pleasure;  but  im- 
mediately it  changed  to  a  note  of  doubt,  "I  don't 
reckon  I  could  stick,"  he  said. 

"You  think  it  over,  Charley,  and  whenever  you 
get  ready,  let  me  know.  Whenever  you  have  let  tobacco 
alone  for  a  day,  come  and  tell  me,  and  I  will  give  you  a 
lesson  that  very  night,"  she  promised. 

But  he  did  not  come  that  evening.  He  slipped  away 
without  being  seen.  The  next  day  he  kept  out  of  the 
way  of  any  conversation  or  inquiry,  and  the  teacher 
wondered  if  he  had  taken  up  the  gage  of  battle  at  all. 
But  that  evening  he  came  to  her  with  shining  eyes. 

"I  get  my  lesson  tonight,  Mis'  Margaret,"  he  said. 
"I  would  of  last  night;  I  pretty  near  did  it.  But  you 
know  when  I  go  out  to  the  well  for  a  drink,  I  always 
take  a  chew,  and  yesterday  evening,  when  I  let  down  the 
bucket,  it  kind  of  slipped  into  my  mouth  before  I  thought. 
I  hit  him  a  lick  today,  though.  Hain't  touched  it,  and 
it's  right  there," — hitting  his  hip  pocket  with  an  em- 
phatic hand.  "It'll  stay  there  till  I've  forgotten  it, 
too." 

His  mother  said  to  him  afterwards,  "Charlie,  why 
didn't  you  give  up  tobacco  when  your  uncle  offered 
you  a  sack  full  of  candy?" 

He  replied,  "I  reckoned  it  wouldn't  last  very  long." 

"Why  did  you  do  it,  then,"  she  pursued,  "for  the 
music  lessons?" 

And  the  young  philosopher  answered,  "I  reckoned 
they'd  last  as  long  as  I  would." 

Four  months  had  passed  when  the  Visitor  heard 
this  tale;  and  parents  and  friends  all  testified  to  the  fact 
that  Charley  had  never  taken  a  chew  since.  And  prob- 
ably he  had  "forgotten  it,"  as  his  hip  pocket  no  longer 
bulged,  and  he  was  becoming  an  accomplished  pianist. 

But  the  tobacco  habit  is  only  one  of  the  vices  against 
which  the  schools  are  striving,  and  from  which  they  are 
endeavoring  to  uplift  their  children  with  the  parents. 
The  lax  moral  conditions  prevailing  in  some  places 


268  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

are  responsible  for  a  degree  of  misery  and  degradation 
that  goes  beyond  any  other  trouble. 

Let  it  not  be  understood,  here,  that  the  South  is 
peculiar  in  having  these  conditions.  Indeed,  after 
careful  and  somewhat  extensive  observation  and  in- 
quiry, the  belief  has  grown  that  the  sins  of  impurity 
are  less  prevalent  in  the  mountains  than  in  more  so- 
phisticated communities.  But  they  show  more  in  open 
than  in  secret  vice,  and  in  the  general  society  rather 
than  in  a  segregated  class.  And  further,  this  peculiarity 
will  be  noticed  in  the  rural  white  South:  that  a  highly 
moral  community  may  be  located  only  a  few  miles  from 
a  notoriously  immoral  community,  a  peculiarity  due 
sometimes  to  the  boundaries  fixed  by  mountains  and 
hills,  and  always  to  the  smaller  degree  of  travel  and 
mingling  of  communities  with  one  another.  Thus,  a 
community  which  has  the  benefit  of  a  good  ancestry 
of  high  principles,  is  likely  to  keep  that  high  moral  tone, 
and  vice  versa;  whereas  in  the  North  the  greater  amount 
of  travel  and  commingling  of  peoples  tends  to  make 
nearly  a  dead  level. 

Take,  then,  from  the  shady  side  of  the  mountain, 
two  stories  of  needs  and  ministry,  stories  exceptional  and 
extreme  in  their  showing  of  hard  conditions,  but  no  wise 
extreme  nor  exceptional  in  their  bright  promise  of  re- 
ward. 

In  the  neighborhood  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Short,  at  the 
Long  Trail  School  in  the  Cumberlands,  lived  three  lit- 
tle children,  the  illegitimate  offspring  of  a  man  who  had 
held  a  high  place  in  the  mountain  community.  He 
had  been  assassinated  a  year  or  two  before,  and  now  the 
children's  mother,  dying,  left  them  to  the  care  of  an 
older  half-brother.  He,  however,  was  as  unwilling  to 
care  for  them  as  he  was  incapable.  He  took  them, 
however,  into  a  cabin  with  him.  The  two  older  children 
were  girls,  eleven  and  nine  years  of  age;  the  youngest, 
a  boy  of  seven. 

One  day  the  Shorts  heard  from  a  neighbor  that  the 


Vice  and  Victory  269 

little  boy,  David,  was  dead  —  had  died  a  day  or  two  be- 
fore. They  went  over  to  the  place  to  see  if  they  could 
be  of  help.  The  cabin  was  closed,  with  no  sign  of  life, 
and  all  their  pounding  and  calling  brought  no  response. 
But  looking  in  at  a  hole  near  the  chimney,  Mr.  Short 
spied  two  shod  feet  protruding  from  the  bed,  and  with 
this  advantage  he  succeeded  in  arousing  the  owner 
(the  half-brother)  and  in  bringing  him  to  the  door. 
They  asked  if  it  was  true  that  David  was  dead. 

"Dead!"  he  echoed,  "yes,  he  was  dead  —  dead 
drunk!" 

Then  they  had  the  story.  The  boy  had  gotten  his 
brother's  whiskey  bottle,  and  drunk  a  whole  quart  of  the 
poison;  and  when  his  sisters  found  him  he  was  uncon- 
cious,  scarcely  breathing,  his  head  lolling,  helplessly 
drunk,  and  in  danger  of  death.  The  girls  dragged  the 
little  fellow  out  to  the  road,  in  a  frightened  effort  to  re- 
vive him.  They  dashed  cold  water  over  him,  and  tried 
to  waken  him,  but  not  until  ten  hours  had  passed  did 
he  regain  consciousness.  He  was  now,  however,  nearly 
recovered  from  his  debauch. 

To  save  the  children,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Short  considered 
taking  them  into  their  own  home,  but  they  found  the 
relatives  ill-disposed  to  permit  this.  The  clan  was  large, 
and  some  of  them  in  good  circumstances  and  of  fair 
culture;  but  none  of  them  wished  to  take  the  children 
so  illy  bred  and  nurtured  into  their  own  homes,  yet 
their  pride  revolted  at  the  thought  of  strangers7  giving 
them  charity. 

Christmas  time  came.  At  the  Shorts',  there  was 
discussed  between  the  parents  and  the  children  how  the 
Jones  children's  lives  might  be  brightened  a  little.  Should 
they  have  a  Christmas  tree?  Oh,  yes!  and  Katherine 
and  Charlotte  would  give  them  their  own  dolls  and  rib- 
bons and  other  presents.  Christmas  day  they  loaded 
a  wagon  with  a  tree  and  presents,  covered  them  with 
a  canvass,  and  drove  over  to  the  home  of  the  waifs. 
It  was  a  new,  two-room  house  the  older  brother  had  just 


270  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

erected  out  of  green  lumber,  and  there  were  now  wide 
cracks  between  the  upright  boards.  The  children  were 
alone  within,  trying  to  keep  warm  around  a  coverless 
stove.  They  were  inveigled  outside  and  away  by  some 
of  their  visitors,  while  the  older  people  took  the  tree  in, 
set  it  up,  decorated  it  with  strings  of  popcorn  and  bright 
paper,  and  hung  the  presents  upon  it.  Then  the  chil- 
dren were  brought  in  again,  and  then*  eyes  opened 
wide  with  astonishment. 

"We  tried  to  keep  awake  all  last  night,"  they  said, 
"to  see  if  'They'  would  bring  us  a  doll,  but  'They' 
didn't  bring  anything."  And  they  fingered  with  some 
misgiving  mingling  with  then1  delight,  the  first  dolls  and 
Teddy-bear  they  had  ever  owned.  With  the  wagon  they 
all  went  out  and  brought  up  a  load  of  dry  wood  to 
warm  them  as  well  as  might  be.  And  then  they  were 
left  alone  with  the  tree. 

A  week  later  they  began  to  come  to  school,  the  first 
they  had  ever  attended.  They  were  delighted  with  it, 
especially  the  dinner  part,  a  part  which  they  found  by 
persistent  venturing  into  the  teachers'  home  at  the 
proper  hour,  and  which  they  took  to  be  a  legitimate 
feature  of  the  free  school. 

In  the  midst  of  winter  as  it  was,  the  girls  were  wear- 
ing only  a  single  garment,  a  thin  dress,  the  boy  a  waist 
and  a  pan*  of  knee  pants,  both  in  tatters,  so  that  his  skin 
showed  through  in  strips.  All  were  barefooted.  Some 
new  clothes — "imported  goods" — were  provided  for 
them,  but  it  was  ordained  that  they  must  first  be 
bathed.  They  were  brought  over  from  the  school, 
one  by  one.  The  girls  willingly  took  their  baths  before 
they  donned  then1  new  clothes;  but  the  boy,  no!  After 
a  while  they  succeeded  in  getting  his  rags  off,  but  he 
persistently  refused  to  be  wet  with  water.  Even  a  cellu- 
loid duck  plunged  into  the  tub  gave  him  no  reassur- 
ance. Then  his  sisters,  who,  bathed  and  clothed,  were 
hi  the  schoolroom,  were  successively  sent  for,  but  they 
could  not  succeed  with  him. 


Vice  and  Victory  271 

They  showed  him  his  nice  new  clothes.  "Oh,  I 
want  those  clothes  so  much,"  he  would  say,  but  he  would 
not  get  into  the  bath.  At  last  they  did  induce  him  to 
put  one  foot  in,  but  he  immediately  jerked  it  out;  and 
that  was  all  the  bath  he  got  the  first  time.  He  got  the 
clothes. 

Soon  after,  the  clan  became  more  generally  disposed 
to  turn  the  children  over  to  the  school  people,  and  they 
were  taken  into  the  Short's  home.  Again  the  battle  with 
the  bath  was  on  with  David,  "I  ain't  goin'  to  take  no 
bath!"  he  announced  with  decision.  Mr.  Short  said 
nothing,  but  to  clean  the  boy's  head  he  doused  it  with 
creoline,  and  then — "Oh,  David,  your  shoulders  are 
wet  with  this  creoline.  You'll  have  to  have  it  washed 
off." 

"Yes,"  he  said,  with  interest,  "it's  rainin'  down," 
and  with  no  protest  he  was  set  into  the  tub.  There, 
after  the  first  gasp,  he  sat  splashing,  and  shortly  began 
to  say,  "Oh,  I  do  like  a  bath!  I  do  like  a  bath  so!" — 
an  expression  iterated  for  the  next  half  hour  over  new 
clothes,  new  apron,  and  so  on.  And  soon  the  bath 
hour  came  to  be  one  of  his  chief  delights. 

The  head  cleaning  was  no  small  affair.  The  hair 
of  all  the  children  was  matted  with  nits  and  alive  with 
lice.  There  were  great  sores  and  patches  of  loose  skin 
which  served  as  hiding  places  for  the  vermin.  The  two 
younger  ones  had  to  have  their  hair  clipped  close,  but  the 
older  girl  begged  so  hard  of  Mrs.  Short  to  have  "nice 
hair  like  yours,"  that  an  effort  was  made  to  save  it.  Mrs. 
Short  and  a  friend  worked  for  hours  on  it.  It  was  greased, 
soaked  with  creoline,  and  carefully,  very  carefully 
combed,  the  vermin  being  destroyed  as  fast  as  they  fell. 
But  her  raw,  sore  head  caused  her  great  pain,  careful 
as  they  might  be. 

"Susie,"  said  Mrs.  Short,  "you  will  have  to  let  me 
cut  it." 

But  she  said,  "Oh  no,  no;  I  can  stand  it.  Do  go  on! 
I'll  stand  anything  if  I  can  only  be  somebody!1'  And  so 


272  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

they  worked  for  five  solid  hours,  till  midnight,  and  saved 
the  hair  that  was  to  her  the  badge  of  being  somebody! 

Those  children  came  into  that  home  having  no 
real  knowledge  of  God  or  of  prayer,  having  no  clear  con- 
ception of  correct  behavior  at  table  or  elsewhere,  their 
young  minds  besmirched  and  besotted  with  bestial  ideas. 
They  remained  nearly  a  year,  fathered  and  mothered 
equally  with  the  own  children  of  that  home;  they  learned 
to  love  their  Jesus  and  to  pray  to  him  in  a  quaint,  origi- 
nal way  that  was  the  soul  of  sincerity,  and  which  time 
and  again  brought  tears  to  the  eyes  of  their  benefactors. 
They  became  well  behaved  and  well  mannered,  their 
minds  were  purified,  brightened;  and  the  time  finally 
came  when  some  of  their  relatives,  in  one  of  the  largest 
cities  of  the  South,  were  glad  to  open  their  doors  to  this 
trio,  rescued  and  prepared  for  a  higher  life. 

The  teaching  of  the  schools  is  to  the  end  that  those 
who  are  helped  shall  themselves  become  helpers.  Noth- 
ing can  so  rejoice  the  heart  of  the  teacher  as  the  sight  of 
those  whom  he  has  helped  turning  with  the  true  spirit 
of  Christ  to  the  rescue  and  uplifting  of  others.  When 
his  young  men  and  women,  saved  from  debasing  habits 
and  trained  in  truth  and  purity,  become  the  instructors 
of  other  boys  and  girls;  when  families  in  his  community 
freed  from  the  filth  and  stupor  of  tobacco  and  the  craze 
of  liquor,  freed  from  the  pains  of  dyspepsia  and  rheu- 
matism and  boils  and  eczema  by  radical  changes  in  diet 
and  manner  of  living  —  when  these  become  messengers 
of  light  and  blessing  to  others  in  the  community  and 
outside;  when  children  and  youth,  standing  on  higher 
planes  of  living,  reach  down  helping  hands  to  those  who 
have  not  yet  responded,  and  whom  none  but  themselves 
can  help  so  well;  that,  all  that,  becomes  a  reward  in 
comparison  with  which  the  highest  salary  and  the  most 
honored  position  in  the  world  are  as  nothing.  This  ex- 
perience is  one  in  which  every  member  in  the  self-sup- 
porting workers  has  had  a  part. 

There  was  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  Pine  Knot 


Vice  and  Victory  273 

School  a  family  composed  of  a  decrepit  father,  four 
grown  boys,  and  a  fourteen-year-old  girl,  the  youngest  of 
them  all.  The  mother  was  dead;  and  the  girl,  Anna, 
had  never  had  any  instruction  in  housekeeping,  and 
scarcely  in  cooking.  The  family  never  sat  down  to  meals 
together;  they  took  their  food  from  the  pot  and  the 
bake-kettle  on  the  hearth,  and  ate  as  time  and  fortune 
favored  them,  by  the  fireplace  or  on  their  way  to  the 
field.  The-  house  was  unkempt  and  dirty.  Outside,  the 
farm  was  in  keeping  with  the  house.  The  rail  fences 
were  down  and  weeds  and  briers  covered  the  field.  The 
girl  seemed  to  her  brothers  not  as  a  sister,  but  as  one  of 
themselves,  and  she,  as  well  as  they,  was  called  upon  for 
field  work. 

This  girl,  along  with  others,  came  to  the  school,  but 
for  two  years  she  seemed  incapable  of  making  progress. 
Her  dress  —  gotten  however  she  might  get  it  —  was 
ill-fitting,  torn,  and  buttonless.  Her  hair  was  un- 
combed, and  she  had  often  to  be  sent  out  to  wash 
her  face  and  hands.  Mrs.  Winthrop  and  others  of 
the  ladies  went  tune  and  again  to  her  home  to  clean 
it  and  teach  her  how  to  make  and  mend  her  clothes 
and  those  of  her  brothers.  But  very  soon  things  would 
be  almost  as  bad  as  before.  For  two  years  this  went 
on,  and  the  school  workers  almost  despaired  of  making 
her  better. 

But  at  the  end  of  the  two  years,  suddenly  there 
seemed  to  come  an  awakening.  She  came  to  school 
neat  and  tidy,  her  dresses  she  kept  in  repair,  and  visits 
to  her  home  revealed  the  fact  that  the  lessons  taught 
her  had  at  last  borne  fruit.  The  home  began  to  be  trans- 
formed, and  the  girl  herself  blossomed  into  womanhood 
like  a  flower  from  a  dull  weed.  Her  brothers  opened 
their  eyes  at  her  in  astonishment.  For  the  first  time  they 
seemed  to  realize  that  they  had  a  sister,  and  what  a  sis- 
ter meant  to  them.  They  began  to  take  pride  in  her,  to 
give  her  little  presents,  and  to  help  her  make  the  home 
a  home.  The  reform  began  outside  as  well,  and  the  farm 

18 


274  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

began  to  look  up.  The  change  in  the  family,  begun  in 
the  girl,  was  marvelous  and  complete. 

Some  time  after  this  transformation  began  to  take 
place,  a  younger  girl,  a  neighbor,  came  up  to  Anna's 
house  one  morning.  She  was  much  such  a  girl  as  Anna 
had  been,  dirty,  ragged,  and  untidy.  Anna  looked 
upon  her  with  the  eyes  of  a  new  apostle. 

"Dolly,"  she  said,  "I'm  going  over  to  Aunt  Belle's 
this  afternoon.  Wouldn't  you  like  to  go  with  me?'7 

"Yes,"  said  Dolly. 

"Then  let  me  help  you  slick  up,  and  I'll  take  you." 

She  took  off  Dolly's  dirty  and  torn  dress,  putting 
one  of  her  own  new  ones  upon  her  while  she  washed  the 
other.  She  gave  Dolly  a  bath,  scrubbed  her  face  and 
hands,  and  combed  her  hair.  Then  she  ironed  Dolly's 
dress.  But  it  was  torn  in  several  places.  Where  she 
could,  she  caught  the  edges  together,  but  there  was  one 
rent  too  big  to  be  spanned  without  a  patch.  And  though 
she  searched  her  small  house  over,  she  could  find  nothing 
to  make  a  proper  patch.  All  she  had  was  a  clean  flour 
sack  she  had  dusted  and  washed.  And  since  she  had 
nothing  better  she  took  the  white  flour  sack  and  made 
a  patch  on  the  little  pink  dress.  Then  they  went  together 
over  to  Aunt  Belle's. 

Anna  saw  her  aunt  looking  with  curiosity  at  the  trans- 
formation in  the  neighbor  girl,  and  supposing  she  was 
taking  special  note  of  the  flour-sack  patch,  she  said, 
"It  was  all  I  had.  I  did  the  best  I  could." 

But  there  were  other  thoughts  in  her  aunt's  mind. 
"Anna,"  said  she,  "how  did  you  come  to  do  all  that  for 
Dolly?" 

"Why,"  answered  the  girl,  "I  was  helped:  why 
shouldn't  I  help  others?"  It  was  a  hill  girl's  simple 
expression  of  Christianity's  deepest  principle:  salvation 
for  service. 

Her  home  became  neat  and  tidy;  on  the  farm  the 
fences  were  built  up  and  the  fields  were  cleaner.  Pros- 
perity attended  the  work  of  this  girl  and  her  brothers. 


Vice  and  Victory 


275 


Her  father  died.  She  developed  into  a  good  woman. 
From  this  poor  hill  cabin,  from  a  flour-sack  patch,  she 
came  to  be  a  young  woman  who  would  not  become 
conspicuous  because  of  dress  on  the  boulevards  of  Nash- 
ville. And  holding  still  that  idea,  "I  was  helped:  why 
shouldn't  I  help  others?"  she  developed  into  a  true 
womanhood,  a  helper  indeed  among  others. 

Well  is  it  said  that  this  work  "will  have  a  far  stronger 
influence  for  good  than  the  preaching  of  sermons."  Let 
the  Christian  worker  show  the  life  that  is  within  him 
by  his  practical  ministry,  and  the  ranks  of  the  Lord's 
army  will  continually  be  swelled  by  the  new  recruits 
he  thus  creates. 


"  THE  temple  of  knowledge  is  not  to  be  found  by 
searching  through  far  lands;  it  stands  here  at  our 
hand.  Nor  are  the  great  men  and  the  leaders  to 
come  mysteriously  from  some  distant  place;  they 
are  here  at  our  doors,  pleading  for  a  chance." 
MARTHA  BERRY. 


XXIV 

WHOSOEVER  IS  NOT  AGAINST  US 

JOHN,  the  "Son  of  Thunder ,"  one  day  with  some 
of  his  fellow  disciples  came  upon  a  scene  such  as  they 
were  accustomed  to  associate  with  only  their  Master 
and  themselves.  They  saw  a  man  casting  out  demons. 
Whether  they  knew  anything  of  the  case,  how  much 
and  how  long  the  man  had  suffered,  how  worthy  or  un- 
worthy was  the  healer,  we  are  not  told.  But  their 
spirit  is  manifest  in  John's  report  to  Jesus.  "We  saw 
one  casting  out  demons  in  thy  name,"  he  said,  "and  we 
forbade  him,  because  he  followeth  not  us."  They  did 
not  think  of  the  relief  and  joy  of  the  healed  demoniac, 
they  did  not  think  that  Jesus'  fame  and  power  were 
being  spread  through  others;  they  felt  only  jealousy 
that  one  not  named  or  associated  with  themselves 
should  presume  to  do  the  work  they  were  doing.  These 
others,  they  assumed,  could  not  accomplish  their  mission, 
could  not  rightly  represent  their  Master.  They  were 
specially  privileged,  they  believed  themselves  therefore 
specially  capable,  and  they  did  not  intend  to  sanction 
usurpation  of  their  place  and  work  by  any  other. 

But  Jesus  rebuked  their  action  and  their  policy. 
"Forbid  him  not,"  he  said,  "for  he  that  is  not  against 
us  is  for  us."  The  disciple  who  gets  Christ's  attitude 
will  be  a  ready  worker  with  all  forces  for  good.  In  the 
world,  and  in  other  churches  than  his  own,  he  will  find 

(279) 


280  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

men  and  women  giving  their  lives  to  the  betterment  of 
their  fellow-men,  some  in  one  way,  some  in  another. 
Some  he  will  find  have  grasped  Christ's  conception  of 
the  kingdom,  working  to  persuade  men  to  enter  therein; 
others  have  dimmer  views,  and  while  zealous  to  procure 
good  works  in  men,  and  church,  and  state,  try  largely 
the  force  of  law  and  legal  combinations.  With  all,  the 
true  disciple  of  Christ  can  and  will  show  an  open-minded 
helpfulness,  giving  to  each  the  full  measure  of  his  strength 
and  cheer  so  far  as  he  can  go  with  them.  He  will  be  no 
narrow  sectary,  requiring  the  brand  of  a  particular 
sect  or  society  on  any  work  in  which  he  is  to  engage, 
and  withholding  his  sanction  and  cooperation  because 
he  fears  he  may  be  swept  from  his  moorings.  He  can 
cheer  on  the  prohibition  movement,  though  he  does 
not  believe  that  law  will  conquer  the  liquor  habit;  and 
meanwhile  he  can  put  forth  his  strongest  efforts  to 
educate  for  temperance.  He  can  aline  himself  with  those 
who  are  fighting  the  social  evil,  though  he  may  not 
believe  that  prostitution  is  completely  curable  by  either 
law  or  economic  improvement;  and  he  can  at  the  same 
time  be  devoting  himself  to  the  inculcation  of  personal 
purity  and  the  upbuilding  of  the  home.  He  can  add  his 
efforts  to  the  efforts  of  those  who  are  struggling  to  banish 
illiteracy,  though  he  may  differ  with  them  as  to  some  of 
the  agencies  used.  And  he  can  join  the  Christian  worker 
who  is  seeking  to  bring  righteousness  into  churches  and 
communities,  by  preaching,  and  praying,  and  personal 
work,  though  he  may  not  sanction  all  the  doctrines  ad- 
vanced nor  the  methods  used.  And  in  all  this  work  he 
can  and  must  retain  his  personal  connection  with  God, 
and  receive  wisdom  from  on  high  that  he  may  neither 
betray  his  sacred  trust  of  truth  nor  offend  his  fellows  by 
a  parade  of  his  peculiarities.  He  can  be  made,  as  Paul  de- 
clared himself  to  be,  "all  things  to  all  men,"  and  a  co- 
worker  with  all  the  good. 

It  is  the  peculiar  temptation  of  a  people  who  have 
radical  differences  from  other  peoples,  and  who  especially 


Whosoever  Is  Not  Against  Us  281 

are  fearful  of  losing  their  children  and  perhaps  themselves 
out  of  their  communion,  to  isolate  themselves  and  associ- 
ate only  with  one  another.  Thus  did  the  Jews  in  then- 
late  national  history,  in  order  to  avoid  the  backslidings 
and  apostasies  of  their  early  experience.  And  by  this 
means  they  built  up  a  middle  wall  of  partition  between 
them  and  the  Gentiles  to  whom  they  were  meant  to  be 
lightbearers.  Some  of  them  were  indeed  active  enough  in 
proselyting  among  the  Gentiles,  but  so  narrow  and  dis- 
torted had  become  their  religion,  largely  because  of  their 
exclusiveness,  that  Jesus  declared  they  made  every 
proselyte  "twofold  more  the  child  of  hell"  than  them- 
selves. They  lacked  the  inner  power  which  comes  from 
communion  with  God,  and  which  is  the  protection  of  the 
Christian  against  the  influences  which  he  meets  in  his 
intercourse  with  men.  Lacking  this,  they  sought  to 
supply  a  defense  by  those  walls  of  partition,  first  between 
Jews  and  Gentiles,  then  between  the  rich  and  the  poor, 
and  last  —  the  highest  step  of  holiness  —  between  their 
strictest  sects,  like  the  Pharisees,  and  the  masses  of  the 
people.  The  result  was  an  ecclesiastical  haughtiness, 
a  formal  religion,  a  spiritual  death,  a  failure  in  their 
mission  to  the  world,  and  finally,  a  rejection  of  their 
God  and  Saviour. 

Thus  will  it  be  today  with  any  people  who  repeat 
their  course.  So  long  as  the  battle  rages  between  God 
and  the  devil,  so  long  must  the  soldiers  of  Christ  encoun- 
ter the  world.  Failure  to  do  so  is  cowardice  and  deser- 
tion. The  only  safety  is  not  in  shirking  the  battle, 
but  in  being  armed  with  the  armor  of  God.  Christians 
trained  in  the  truth  of  God  and  having  a  personal  con- 
nection with  him,  will  retain  their  faith  and  love,  though 
assailed  by  all  the  temptations  to  which  their  mingling 
with  the  world  subjects  them.  "I  pray  not,"  cried  Jesus 
to  his  Father,  "that  thou  shouldest  take  them  out  of 
the  world,  but  that  thou  shouldest  keep  them  from  the 
evil."  Following  then*  Master,  Christians  today  will 
give  themselves  whole-heartedly  to  the  service  of  man- 


282  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

kind,  and  will  with  gladness  cooperate  with  all  whom 
they  touch  and  whom  they  prove  worthy  of  Christian 
fellowship,  be  they  of  whatever  name  or  Christian 
cause.  The  only  ones  who  think  all  the  good  is  in  then- 
own  church  are  those  who  have  never  worked  outside. 

None  have  greater  opportunity  for  this  cooperative 
service  than  the  rural  mission  school  workers.  Situated, 
for  the  most  part,  far  from  other  churches  or  members 
of  their  own  denomination,  they  are  the  more  keenly 
alive  to  the  influences  for  good  manifested  in  other 
churches  and  individuals.  Holding  with  the  utmost 
earnestness  the  belief  that  the  second  coming  of  Christ 
is  very  near,  and  that  preparation  for  his  coming  in- 
volves a  very  definite  reform  on  many  points  not  recog- 
nized by  some  of  the  churches,  they  nevertheless  welcome 
the  cooperation  of  all  agencies  which,  though  failing 
to  stand  on  their  own  platform,  yet  aim  at  the  bet- 
terment of  society  and  the  salvation  of  men.  They  recog- 
nize the  splendid  service  given  in  the  field  they  are 
entering,  by  individuals  and  organizations  which  have 
preceded  them,  a  service  far  more  extended  and  better 
developed  than  their  own  now  is  or  may  ever  be;  and  they 
esteem  the  earnest  efforts  of  members  of  the  communities 
of  which  they  have  become  a  part  to  lift  higher  the 
standard  of  morality,  education,  and  efficiency. 

Thus  it  is  their  aim  to  cooperate  with  all  who  will 
receive  their  aid  in  any  of  their  manifold  channels  of 
service.  Nearly  all  the  groups  of  these  workers  are  mem- 
bers and  workers  in  Sunday  schools,  several  of  which 
they  have  organized  where  there  were  none  before. 
Free  ministry  to  the  sick  is  always  one  of  their  chief 
cares,  and  out  of  their  poverty  they  have  created  the 
means  of  helping  the  poor,  in  clothing  and  sometimes 
in  food  and  shelter,  in  this  uniting  with  those  of  the  com- 
munity who  are  able  and  willing  to  dispense  charity. 
To  the  upbuilding  of  the  agricultural  work  they  have 
contributed  their  help.  One  school  led  the  neighbors 
hi  the  purchase  of  a  community-owned  rock-crusher, 


Whosoever  Is  Not  Against  Us  283 

to  furnish  crushed  limestone  for  the  soil.  Several  have 
been  leaders  in  the  development  of  new  and  valuable 
money  crops,  to  take  the  place  of  tobacco  or  less  prof- 
itable products.  All  have  taken  an  interest  in  local 
agricultural  movements  whether  organized  or  unorgan- 
ized. 

One  school  in  middle  Tennessee  has  for  some  time 
held  an  annual  agricultural  rally,  that  calls  together 
farmers  and  farmers'  wives  from  a  considerable  section 
of  their  country,  and  to  these  rallies  they  have  brought 
not  only  help  from  their  own  schools,  but  from  the  State 
and  national  departments  of  agriculture.  Deep  ap- 
preciation has  been  shown  of  this  feature  of  the  school 
work  by  representatives  of  the  government  farm  demon- 
stration bureau,  the  boys'  corn  clubs,  and  the  girls' 
tomato  clubs. 

In  hygiene  especially  the  influence  of  these  workers 
receives  appreciation  from  the  guardians  of  health  and 
those  who  have  lost  their  health.  The  health  principles 
of  this  people  are  more  radical  than  the  majority  of  men 
wish  to  accept,  but  they  are  recognized  by  all  as  being 
an  advance  in  the  direction  of  rational  science;  and  many 
who  are  brought  through  their  schools  or  their  sanita- 
riums to  an  adoption  of  the  curative  regimen  of  a  simple 
dietary,  healthful  dress,  water  treatments,  active  labor, 
cheerful  religion,  and  prayer,  testify  to  its  blessing  and 
pleasure  in  their  lives.  In  no  more  practical  way  is 
shown  the  ability  of  the  workers  to  cooperate  with  their 
communities  and  with  other  workers  for  the  world's  good, 
than  in  the  matter  of  health  and  disease.  The  Rural 
Sanitarium  at  Madison,  as  well  as  various  humbler  en- 
terprises among  the  out-schools,  has  received  the  grate- 
ful testimony  of  many  prominent  in  professional  and 
government  service,  and  their  cooperation  is  assured 
in  the  work  which  these  interests  are  endeavoring  to 
forward. 

In  the  library  extension  work  of  the  state,  several 
of  the  schools  have  cooperated,  helping  their  communi- 


284  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

ties  in  the  selection  and  understanding  of  the  best  books, 
adding  hi  most  cases  a  number  of  then*  own  not  inclu- 
ded in  the  library's  lists. 

So  also  hi  the  efforts  of  the  state  to  reduce  the  il- 
literacy among  the  adult  population,  some  of  the  schools 
have  added  to  the  burdens  of  then-  gratuitous  work 
of  daily  teaching,  the  additional  work  of  night  schools 
and  a  campaign  to  include  in  these  evening  exercises 
every  one  of  the  unlearned  hi  then*  communities. 

In  all  this  cooperative  service,  it  is  the  ambition  of 
these  workers,  emulating  then*  Master,  to  merit  the 
testimony  given  by  one  who,  returning  from  a  stay  at 
the  Rural  Sanitarium,  was  questioned  as  to  how  much 
of  religious  indoctrination  she  had  received,  to  which 
she  replied:  "They  do  not  need  to  talk  then-  religion; 
they  live  it." 


XXV 

THE  TIMES  OP  CHEER 

ONCE  a  year  the  self-supporting  workers  come  up 
to  look  one  another  in  the  face,  to  exchange  ex- 
periences, to  encourage  one  another,  and  to  lay  plans 
for  more  aggressive  and  extended  work.  That  is,  all 
who  can,  come.  It  is  a  difficult  thing  for  the  most  of 
them  to  make  the  journey;  for  to  solve  the  problem  of 
shelter,  the  gathering  must  be  in  a  warm  season  —  sum- 
jner  or  early  fall  —  and  at  that  time  the  crops  are 
requiring  attention,  while  few  of  the  workers  can  easily 
find  expense  money.  Those  who  are  near  enough,  drive 
through  in  their  wagons;  and  many  a  tale  is  told  by  the 
more  distant,  of  providential  incomes  to  pay  their  way 
to  the  meeting. 

One  brother  and  his  wife,  teaching  in  Alabama, 
wished  very  much  to  attend  a  convention,  but  they  were 
practically  without  money,  while  they  had  two  or  three 
small  debts  in  the  neighborhood,  and  no  means  appeared 
to  offer  a  way  out.  But  they  were  in  a  peculiar  situation 
just  then,  which  they  felt  required  the  council  of  their 
brethren  in  order  to  decide  their  future,  and  whether 
they  should  stay  with  the  work  at  all,  and  they  believed 
It  was  God's  will  for  them  to  go  to  the  convention. 

So  they  began  to  pray  for  the  way  to  open,  and  pre- 
pared their  clothing  and  arranged  their  affairs  for  the 
journey.  In  praying,  they  took  their  little  daughter, 

(285) 


286  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

Dorothy,  ten  years  old,  into  their  confidence.  She  had 
been  trained  to  have  perfect  faith  in  whatever  she  asked 
for  and  in  what  she  did;  and  as  soon  as  they  had  all  prayed 
for  God  to  send  money,  she  climbed  up  into  her  father's 
lap  and  said,  "Papa,  how  long  will  it  take  God  to  answer? 
Will  it  be  five  minutes?  Or  will  it  be  an  hour?"  Her 
Father  told  her  that  God  could  answer  in  a  minute, 
but  that  he  often  tested  our  faith  by  having  us  wait 
for  a  longer  time,  and  he  reminded  her  of  the  experience 
of  the  prophet  Daniel,  who  prayed  for  three  weeks 
before  he  had  an  answer  to  his  prayer. 

"Oh,  but,"  she  said,  "it  will  not  be  three  weeks 
this  time,  because  we  have  to  go  in  two  days.  And  I 
believe  we  will  get  the  money  tomorrow." 

Her  father  had  a  year-old  colt  which  he  decided  to 
try  to  sell  to  pay  his  debts  and  furnish  money  for  the 
trip,  but  he  thought  he  could  not  expect  a  sale  on  the 
mountain,  as  valuable  horses  were  rare  in  that  locality, 
twenty-  to  thirty-dollar  "jinnies"  being  much  more  com- 
mon, and  long  time  usually  being  given  on  the  sale  of  a 
horse.  So  he  planned  to  take  the  colt  down  to  Lock-and- 
Dam,  on  the  Tennessee  River,  a  camp  at  the  place  where 
the  government  was  making  improvements,  and  which 
offered  a  better  market  than  any  other  place  near  by. 

He  started  out  in  the  morning  to  walk  the  twenty- 
four  miles  there  and  back,  leading  the  colt.  But  he  had 
gone  no  more  than  three  or  four  miles  from  home,  and 
was  still  on  the  mountain  when  a  woman  came  out  of 
a  house,  calling,  "Do  you  want  to  sell  that  colt?" 

"Yes." 

"How  much  do  you  want  for  him?" 

"Seventy-five  dollars." 

"Well,  I'll  take  him,"  she  said,  and  going  into  the 
house  produced  the  money. 

It  was  a  transaction  unheard  of  for  rapidity  on  the 
mountain;  and  in  two  hours  from  the  time  of  his  leaving, 
he  had  returned  to  his  home,  where  Dorothy  ran  out  to 
meet  him,  crying,  "I  knew  it  would  come  today.  I  knew 


The  Times  of  Cheer  287 

it  would  when  I  prayed."  .  The  next  day  they  were  en  route 
for  the  convention,  where  they  received  courage  and  in- 
spiration to  continue  their  work  in  the  midst  of  unusual 
difficulties. 

The  first  of  these  annual  gatherings  was  held  in  late 
August,  1908,  at  the  Madison  School,  where  each  suc- 
ceeding convention  has  been  held.  The  different  meetings 
have  varied  more  or  less  in  character  of  constituency 
and  program,  but  they  have  been  alike  in  then:  main 
purpose  of  helping  and  cheering  those  already  in  the 
field  and  in  giving  inspiration  to  others  to  enter  it.  The 
schools  nearest  Madison  have  naturally  been  most 
fully  represented  —  Oak  Grove,  Fountain  Head,  Chestnut 
Hill,  Spring  Farm,  Hawk  Ridge  —  though  scarcely 
more  so  than  schools  from  fifty  to  one  hundred  miles 
distant,  like  Bon  Aqua  to  the  west,  Lawrenceburg  to 
the  south,  and  Daylight  and  Sequatchie  Valley  to  the 
east.  Alabama  has  seen  members  from  its  four  schools 
nearly  always  marked  present.  Farthest  away  within 
the  States,  Georgia,  Florida,  and  Virginia,  and  the  Caro- 
lina group  of  schools,  have  seldom  failed  to  have  repre- 
sentatives present  at  the  convention.  Occasionally  there 
have  come  from  the  Cuban  and  Honduran  schools  teach- 
ers who  were  in  the  States  on  business  or  furlough,  and 
also  missionaries  from  South  America,  Central  Africa, 
China,  India,  and  other  foreign  fields,  some  of  whom  have 
had  more  or  less  experience  in  this  kind  of  school  work. 

Six  miles  north  of  Nashville  is  the  Hillcrest  School, 
which,  though  younger  and  as  yet  not  so  well  developed, 
aims  at  the  same  position  in  relation  to  the  negro  work 
as  the  Madison  School  holds  in  relation  to  the  white. 
It  was  established  in  1908,  and  has  made  good  progress 
in  its  mission  of  training  negro  workers  as  self-support- 
ing teachers  and  farmers  among  their  own  people.  So  far, 
however,  being  conveniently  near  to  Madison,  its  white 
teachers  have  joined  the  workers  assembled  there,  and 
their  assistance  has  been  of  marked  value  in  making  the 
convention  successful.  Their  students  also  have  the 


288  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

privileges  of  the  convention  for  at  least  one  day,  the 
Sabbath. 

The  students  of  the  Madison  School  usually  consti- 
tute nearly  half  of  the  congregation  at  the  convention, 
and  their  presence  is  far  from  being  a  formal  matter; 
for  they  are  almost  without  exception  planning  and  study- 
ing to  do  the  same  work,  to  meet  the  same  problems, 
which  are  discussed  in  the  convention  by  those  who  are 
now  actually  meeting  them.  The  eager  attention  shown 
by  these  students,  the  questions  and  the  suggestions 
that  come  from  them,  make  no  small  part  of  the  value 
of  the  gathering. 

We  would  invite  you  to  attend  with  us  a  typical 
convention.  Let  us  arrive  the  night  before  its  open- 
ing, for  promptness  is  a  virtue  highly  prized,  and  there 
are  material  reasons  besides  why  it  is  better  to  be  early 
than  late.  If  you  go  with  us,  you  will  walk  the  two 
and  a  half  miles  from  the  station  to  the  school,  but 
the  road  is  macadam,  and  so,  stowing  our  grips  in  the 
vehicle  where  the  most  delicate  ride,  we  cheerfully 
follow  this  road  through  the  garden  spot  of  Tennessee 
until,  at  the  rise  of  the  fourth  or  fifth  long  hill,  we  reach 
the  sign  that  says,  " Rural  Sanitarium/'  and  turn  to  the 
left  on  the  new  stone  road  of  the  school. 

Shortly,  topping  the  crest  of  the  ridge,  which  the 
water  tank  marks  as  the  highest  point  on  the  farm, 
we  pause  to  behold  the  panorama  spread  out  before  us. 
Just  beyond  us,  scarcely  below,  stretches  the  long 
campus,  from  the  old  farm  house  up  to  the  Rural  Sani- 
tarium, a  road  bordered  on  each  side  by  cottages  little 
and  big  —  the  little  for  homes,  the  big  for  public  uses. 
Cool  and  inviting  it  lies  in  the  luxuriance  of  its  blue- 
grass  sward,  under  the  shade  of  the  mighty  old  oaks 
and  the  locusts. 

Sleep  is  sweet  in  the  dewy  nights  of  blue-grass  Ten- 
nessee, and  unless  you  are  a  light  sleeper,  it  is  not  likely 
that  you  hear,  late  at  night  or  early  in  the  morning, 
the  rumbling  of  the  wagons  that  come  in  from  Goodletts- 


The  Times  of  Cheer  289 

ville  and  Fountain  Head  and  Portland,  or  even,  perhaps, 
from  Bon  Aqua  and  Lawrenceburg,  bringing  the  teachers 
and  farmers  who  spent  their  last  moments  of  light  in 
the  corn  field  or  in  the  canning  factory  or  the  mill,  and 
took  the  dark  hours  for  their  de  luxe  traveling  to  the 
scene  of  the  convention. 

But  in  the  morning  we  greet  them.  There  is  the 
jovial  Alden  and  the  lean- jawed  Irish  Mulford,  first  of 
the  out-school  pioneers;  there  is  Martin  from  Bon  Aqua 
and  Johnston  from  Eufola,  who  help  us  to  remember, 
come  Sabbath,  what  old-time  preaching  is  like;  there 
is  little  Leitzman  from  Alabama,  and  the  bluff,  hearty 
Artress  from  west  Tennessee,  to  talk  to  us  about  build- 
ing and  blessing.  And  Clifford  Howell  from  the  Cum- 
berlands  and  Marshall  Johnston  from  the  foothills  of 
the  Blue  Ridge,  are  among  those  who  represent  a  work 
antedating  Madison,  yet  welcoming  its  magnificent  aid. 
Tolman  and  his  family  and  the  Scotts  from  Sand  Moun- 
tain, and  Groesbeck  from  Sequatchie  Valley  to  the 
north  of  them,  Waller  and  Steinman  and  Graves  from 
the  French  Broad  plateau,  and  Watson  from  his  celery 
lands  and  orange  groves  by  Tampa,  and  Pflugradt 
from  the  Tidewater  of  Virginia,  Diehl  and  Jacobs  from 
Kentucky,  and  Kendall  and  Rudisaile  from  Arkansas 
—  all  these  bring  news  from  near  and  far  of  the  progress 
of  the  self-supporting  school  work. 

And  not  alone  from  the  school  work  are  we  to  hear. 
DOWIN  from  Chicago  comes  the  virile,  rapid-fire  Dr. 
Paulson,  with  the  gospel  on  his  tongue  and  the  Life 
Boat  in  his  hand,  fresh  from  experiences  in  prison  minis- 
tering  and  platform  lecturing,  from  rescue  work  in  the 
slums  and  the  care  of  his  great  sanitarium  —  comes  to 
offer  a  union  of  city  work  with  the  work  of  the  wilderness. 
And  with  him  is  Dr.  Kress,  world-wide  medical  evan- 
gelist, a  leader  alike  in  temperance  crusades  and  per- 
sonal evangelism.  Dr.  Hayward,  veteran  among  the 
medical  missionary  forces  in  the  South,  comes  up  from 
Georgia,  with  his  wife,  a  sharer  in  his  work  of 
19 


290  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

ministry  to  the  mountaineers.  And  closer  by,  in  Nash- 
ville, so  that  he  can  alternate  attendance  with  prac- 
tise, is  Dr.  Harris,  earnest  advocate  and  practitioner 
of  medical  philanthropy.  Then  there  are  nurses  like 
Clatter  of  Alabama,  Kate  Macey  and  her  corps  in 
North  Carolina,  and  Elma  Jeffries  in  the  Palmetto 
State,  and  last  of  all,  Oswald,  with  his  report  of  needs 
and  service  and  miracles.  By  all  of  these  the  note  of 
medical  evangelism  is  sounded,  and  emphasis  given  to 
the  place  the  healing  art  is  to  occupy  in  the  work  of  the 
gospel.  It  is  a  note  fitly  sounded  at  Madison;  for  a  third 
of  its  students  are  nurses,  its  president  and  its  dean  as 
well  as  other  teachers  are  physicians  in  charge  of  the 
sanitarium,  and  ministry  to  the  bodily  ills  of  men  is  in- 
terwoven with  all  the  work  and  the  teaching  of  the  school. 

The  convention  opens  with  a  praise  and  experience 
service.  Dr.  Sutherland,  who  is  invariably  elected  chair- 
man year  by  year,  strikes,  as  is  his  habit,  the  note 
of  cheer  and  courage,  and  the  testimonies  that  roll  in 
in  response  are  no  ordinary  recitals  of  hopes  and  fears 
and  desires,  but  rather  live,  specific  reports  of  deeds  ac- 
complished, needs  inspiring  to  service,  difficulties  finan- 
cial and  spiritual  overcome,  and  joy  in  the  realization 
of  fellowship  with  other  laborers  and  of  oneness  with 
Christ.  Sometimes  a  minor  note  is  sounded  by  some 
struggling  soul  new  to  the  work  and  almost  overwhelmed 
with  the  obstacles  in  the  way,  but  invariably  the  chord  of 
triumph  is  also  struck,  feebly  perhaps  at  first,  but  full 
and  strong  before  the  close  of  the  convention. 

On  Sabbath,  the  time  of  the  Sabbath  school  is  occu- 
pied by  a  general  study  of  the  day's  lesson,  and  then 
by  a  discussion  of  Sabbath  school  and  Sunday  school 
work.  Experiences  from  many  quarters  in  methods 
and  results  are  ready  for  relation  by  practically  every 
one,  but  the  Sabbath  school  superintendent  (a  student) 
keeps  the  discussion  brisk,  short,  crisp,  and  to  the  point. 

Listen,  thereafter,  to  a  sermon  that  is  neither  the  an- 
cient exposition  of  a  text  nor  the  modern  vogue  of  a 


The  Times  of  Cheer  291 

harangue  upon  some  sensational  theme,  but  rather  a 
sermon  based  upon  the  model  of  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount. 
Says  the  speaker:  "The  words  of  Christ  hi  reference  to 
the  Good  Samaritan  are  addressed  to  the  church  for  all 
time :  '  Go  thou  and  do  likewise ' —  not  merely  to  preach 
the  gospel,  but  to  minister  to  men.  To  our  sick  people 
in  our  sanitariums  we  do  not  give  all  the  same  treat- 
ment —  a  cold  plunge.  We  study  the  needs  of  each  in- 
dividual, and  treat  each  one  accordingly.  Just  so  it 
must  be  in  the  science  of  salvation.  The  manifestation 
of  the  love  of  Christ  is  the  last  message  to  the  world. 
As  we  go  out  as  workers,  we  are  not  only  to  study  Christ's 
methods  of  work,  but  we  are  to  carry  with  us  Christ's 
spirit  of  work." 

Saturday  night  begins  the  discussion  of  the  subject 
of  agriculture,  so  important  to  the  rural  worker,  a  sub- 
ject which  is  continued  on  Monday,  a  special  agriculture 
day,  on  which  many  speakers  from  the  State  and  national 
departments  of  agriculture  and  education  are  present. 
The  presiding  officer  of  the  day  is  the  county  superin- 
tendent of  schools,  and  an  enthusiastic  audience  re- 
sponds to  the  speakers7  instruction,  their  appeals,  and 
their  words  of  appreciation  for  service  being  rendered 
by  the  teachers  and  workers  before  them. 

Sunday  has  been  a  red  letter  day,  when  large  numbers 
from  the  Nashville  publishing,  educational,  and  medical 
interests  were  present,  and  often  from  greater  distances. 
The  discussion  of  experiences  in  the  hill  and  mountain 
schools  begins  on  this  day,  and  principles  and  plans  are 
thoroughly  studied  and  illustrated  by  the  varied  ex- 
periences of  those  who  present  and  discuss  the  topics 
under  consideration.  On  this  day,  too,  first  appear  on 
exhibition  the  displays  of  the  workmanship  of  the  schools. 
It  must  be  said,  however,  that  though  these  exhibits 
bear  fair  comparison  with  similar  exhibits  in  sloyd  of 
paper  and  woodwork  and  weaving  and  drawing  and 
sewing  to  be  seen  elsewhere,  the  real  exhibits,  which  best 
tell  what  these  schools  are  doing,  are  to  be  seen  only  by 


292  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

visits  to  their  various  neighborhoods,  where  the  more 
permanent  and  valuable  evidences  of  then-  energy, 
care,  and  patience  are  shown  in  the  homes  and  farms 
of  the  communities. 

The  teachers  enter  heartily  into  a  discussion  of  one 
another's  circumstances  and  peculiar  needs.  Oftentimes 
these  can  be  and  are  discussed  in  public  meeting  with 
the  greatest  profit;  at  other  times  private  conferences 
are  arranged  between  those  in  peculiar  circumstances 
and  those  who  have  experience  and  wisdom  to  help  them. 
The  assembly  room  of  Gotzian  Hall,  where  the  sessions 
are  usually  held,  is  a  forum  of  world-wide  subjects. 
Now  it  is  the  struggling  farmer,  but  lately  detached  from 
the  accountant's  desk,  who  is  anxiously  inquiring  about 
the  use  of  fertilizers,  and  the  answers  come  from  the 
radical's  utter  condemnation  to  the  expert's  succinct 
advice  and  recommendation  of  bulletins  for  study. 
Again,  it  is  a  request  for  information  as  to  the  best  text 
and  auxiliary  books,  and  a  physician  responds  with  the 
recommendation  of  the  newest  physiology,  or  a  littera- 
teur (rare  bird  in  this  practical,  next-the-ground  col- 
lection) tells  of  a  list  of  helpful  juvenile  books  which 
appeals  for  book  donations  may  possibly  bring  in.  Again, 
there  are  tangles  of  government  and  cooperation  whose 
general  principles  may  be  dwelt  upon  in  public,  but 
which  for  specific  discussion  require  private  conferences. 
And  yet  again,  a  brother  brings  a  report  of  threatened 
opposition  and  obstruction  of  his  medical  evangelistic 
work,  a  thoughtful  discussion  of  which  results  in  the 
division  of  the  convention  into  groups  for  prayer  and 
study,  that  there  may  be  unanimity  in  the  final  course 
adopted. 

And  all  this  while  the  two  or  three  committees 
which  the  simple  organization  requires,  are  busily  at 
work  collating  and  condensing  and  relating  the  ideas 
and  suggestions  of  the  body  for  a  report  at  the  last 
meeting.  It  is  a  notable  thing  with  what  speed  and 
unanimity  these  final  recommendations  are  put  through, 


The  Times  of  Cheer  293 

because  the  discussions  consist  almost  wholly  of  commen- 
dation and  exhortation,  and  are  brief  at  that.  The 
members  of  the  convention  are  for  the  most  part  better 
accustomed  to  deeds  than  to  debates. 

Five  days  is  the  utmost  tune  that  such  a  meeting 
can  be  held.  With  difficulty  have  the  workers  left  their 
farms  and  shops  and  homes  to  be  present  on  these  days 
of  cheer.  Always  in  the  midst  of  the  joy  of  this  asso- 
ciation the  call  of  the  needs  at  home  is  sounding  in 
their  ears;  and  they  are  at  once  loath  to  leave  and  im- 
patient to  be  back  at  work.  But  of  their  faith  and  joy 
there  is  no  better  testimony  than  that  of  a  young  teacher 
in  the  last  morning  meeting.  One  cannot  give  the  con- 
viction that  lies  in  his  tones,  in  his  eyes  suffused  with 
tears,  as  speaking  of  a  worker,  he  says,  "If  I  had  no  other 
result  for  all  my  struggles  there,  single-handed,  over- 
whelmed with  tasks,  perplexed  about  money  matters, 
knowing  myself  inadequate  to  the  needs  —  if  I  had  no 
other  result  than  the  salvation  of  this  young  man,  I 
should  thank  God  eternally  that  he  has  permitted  me 
to  undertake  this  work." 

The  evening  sees  some  of  the  wagons  depart;  the 
morning  says  farewell  to  the  scores  who  go  by  rail.  They 
bid  one  another  good-by  with  affection,  with  clasped 
hands  and  embraces,  with  smiling  lips  but  oftentimes 
tearful  eyes.  Their  words  and  their  looks  declare  that 
the  brotherhood  of  these  times  of  cheer  shall  be  main- 
tained out  on  the  frontier,  as,  few  or  single-handed,  they 
continue  the  work  they  have  so  bravely  begun.  It  is 
a  little  band,  this,  training  in  the  wilderness  for  great 
things;  and  many  there  must  be  to  join  them,  like 
Zebulun  of  old,  "such  as  went  forth  to  battle,  expert 
in  war,  .  .  .  fifty  thousand,  which  could  keep  rank  " 
and  "were  not  of  double  heart," 


ttefy  xrf  the  Hitts 


is  our  Jerusalem,  the  children  of  the  hills; 
our  neighbors;  our  kith  and  kin.  Begin  with  them 
and  save  them  and  let  them  help  us  save  the 
world."  EDWARD  0.  GUERRANT. 


XXVI 

THE  TORCH-BEARER 

THE  limestone  bed  of  the  Cumberlands  is  honeycombed 
with  caves.  Memory  runs  back  to  a  day  when  a 
school  outing  promised  the  unexampled  joy  of  explor- 
ing one  of  these  caves.  A  lazy,  hazy  Indian  summer 
day,  bronze-leafed  and  stubble-paved,  opened  its  right 
of  way  to  the  dark  mysteries  it  might  never  look  upon. 
At  the  hole  in  the  mountain's  face,  the  varied  crowd 
of  youth  and  children,with  one  or  two  elders,  stopped 
to  get  ready  their  lights,  for  which  perhaps  half  the 
company  had  provision.  The  great  majority  bore 
" lighter  wood"  torches  —  fat  pine  knots,  with  adher- 
ing splinters  for  handles.  There  were  two  or  three 
lanterns,  one  of  them  a  huge,  old-fashioned  black  ja- 
panned affair  carried  by  a  little  girl  named  Emmy. 
But  the  chief  interest  centered  in  the  newfangled  light 
of  the  teacher,  who,  deploring  the  ravages  of  the  smoky 
pine  knots  upon  the  alabaster  treasures  of  the  cave, 
had  brought  with  him  a  powerful  electric  torch,  the 
object  now  of  envious  and  half -scornful  raillery  from  the 
dozen  youngsters  who  bore  the  time-honored  "  lighter." 
Within  the  cave  the  pungent  censers  of  the  pine 
knots  threw  their  gleams  on  the  walls,  or  darted  glints 
of  smoky  fire  upon  the  path  as  we  stumbled  along.  But 
so  dim  was  their  light,  and  so  erratic  then:  restless  car- 
riers, that  only  fleeting  glimpses  were  to  be  caught  of 

(297) 


298  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

the  great  high  domes  with  their  clusters  of  glittering 
stalactites.  Or,  when  they  were  held  near  to  the  crys- 
tal-tipped daggers  lower  down,  their  oily  smoke  so 
quickly  killed  the  beauty  that  we  thrust  them  away. 

Then  little  Emmy,  lifting  her  lantern,  sent  its  shaft  of 
light  along  the  rows  of  "The  Dragon's  Teeth77  or  round 
the  circle  of  "The  Queen's  Necklace,"  and  made  all  then- 
jeweled  points  glow  with  passion  or  with  pride. 

But  it  was  to  the  teacher's  torch  that  we  owed  our 
vision  of  the  grandeur  and  glory  of  this  hidden  world. 
Down  the  winding,  rough-floored  corridors  we  passed 
from  chamber  to  chamber,  piloted  through  the  dark- 
ness by  that  clear,  streaming  light,  ever  steady,  ever 
playing  just  right  to  show  the  pitfalls  or  to  reveal 
the  beauties  of  the  way.  Here  we  lay  flat  to 
gaze  over  a  precipice  into  a  Stygian  gulf  that 
even  the  flashing  eye  of  the  electric  torch  could 
but  vaguely  explore;  there  we  saw,  rough-cast  by  na- 
ture and  shaped  by  imagination,  a  trio  of  squat  stone 
gods  that  might  claim  rule  of  those  realms.  On  the  shore 
of  the  dusky  Whippoorwill  Pool;  in  the  great  Throne 
Room  with  its  canopied  chair  of  state  and  its  graded 
seats  for  nobles  and  for  thralls;  or,  yon  side  of  Fat  Man's 
Misery,  in  the  low-roofed  Room  of  the  Fountains,  with 
its  cold,  crystal  streams  flowing  over  the  fluted  lips  of 
the  terraced  basins  —  through  all  these,  the  torch- 
bearer  was  our  seer,  our  interpreter,  making  the  near 
mysteries  revelations  and  the  distant  secrets  lures. 

Once,  twice,  we  tarried  behind,  and  were  left  in  pitch 
blackness,  scarcely  daring  to  move  foot  for  fear  of  dis- 
aster. All  about  us,  doubtless,  were  wonders:  columns 
and  arches,  moldings  and  frescoes  of  brown  and  gray 
and  white,  marvels  of  nature's  art;  but  they  were  all 
hidden  to  our  eyes.  To  us  they  did  not  exist  until  the 
torch  again  flooded  the  recesses  of  our  station,  and 
brought  them  to  life. 

The  pine-knot  boys  were  racing  and  leaping  and 
halloing  from  rock  to  rock  and  room  to  room,  crying 


The  Torch-Bearer  299 

out  splendid  discoveries,  breaking  off  trophies  of  crys- 
tal-studded treasures  of  the  cave,  and  with  their  torches 
making  great  strips  of  blackboard  whereon  to  write  their 
names.  But  to  us  they  were  only  will-o'-the-wisps,  and 
their  unrestrained  vandalism  but  the  regrettable  excesses 
of  an  alien  enterprise. 

Once  they  came  in  touch  with  our  torch-bearer.  At 
one  end  of  "the  Cathedral,"  where  the  high  roof  stooped 
toward  the  floor,  rose  the  great  pipe-organ,  its  columns 
of  stalactites  reaching  down  their  slender  arms  to  touch 
the  sturdier  forms  of  the  stalagmites  below.  The  white 
light  of  the  electric  torch  streamed  upon  the  snowy 
surface,  from  spreading  base  to  arching  top,  and  made 
it  indeed  all  that  fancy  called  it.  The  hush  of  sacred 
thought  and  feeling  came  upon  us,  and  hi  some  hearts 
there  rose  the  strains  that  echo  what  the  angels  sing. 

Then  through  the  stillness  rang  the  shout  of  a  pine- 
knot  boy,  as  he  clambered  behind  the  organ.  Through 
the  holes  and  the  screen  of  the  thin  stone  connecting 
the  pipes  his  torch  shone  out  redly;  and  suddenly  all 
the  mystic  beauty  of  the  structure  vanished,  and  we 
stood  gazing  upon  the  fiery  mouths  and  the  glowing 
eyes  of  a  monster,  one  of  those  metal-eating  monsters 
that  devour  the  mountains,  the  heat  of  its  inward  fires 
glaring  through  its  belly  and  the  smoke  pouring  forth 
from  its  nostrils.  And  then  all  the  air  was  filled  with 
the  clamor  of  the  multitude,  shouting.  But  the  clear 
white  light  in  the  hands  of  our  torch-bearer  led  us  away 
and  on. 

For  hours  we  wandered  through  the  mazes  of  the 
cavern,  till  it  seemed  we  must  be  miles  away  from  our 
starting  point.  Then  at  last  we  climbed  into  the  dry 
atmosphere  of  the  "  Saltpetre  Room,"  whose  crumbly 
dusty  floor  was  ridged  and  furrowed  by  trenches  and 
excavations.  Our  leader  paused,  while  the  company, 
weary  for  the  most  part,  and  anxious  for  the  end,  gath- 
ered around  him.  The  pine-knot  torches  had  burned 
to  the  last  of  then*  lives,  and  now  but  two  or  three  piece* 


300  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

remained  to  be  thrown,  spluttering  and  fuming,  upon 
the  floor.  Of  the  oil  lamps,  all  had  burned  out  ex- 
cept little  Emmy's  faithful  big  black  lantern.  She  lifted 
it  now  to  look  at  its  yellow  flame,  and  her  little  fingers 
carefully,  anxiously  turned  the  wick  a  trifle  higher. 

"Teacher/'  she  said,  "when  will  we  get  to  the  end?" 

"Do  you  know  where  we  are?"  he  asked.  Some  of 
the  older  boys  knew;  but  a  depression,  mystically  born, 
perhaps,  with  the  dying,  of  their  torches,  sat  upon  them, 
and  then*  grimy  faces  remained  stolid  as  they  fixed  their 
eyes  on  the  teacher. 

"Do  you  know  where  we  are?"  he  said. 

"I  should  say,"  replied  one  whose  lantern  light 
had  lasted  till  a  few  moments  before,  "I  should  say 
we  are  about  ten  miles  from  daylight." 

"We  have  traveled  a  long  way,"  said  the  teacher, 
"and  our  lights  have  shown  us  many  things,  the  things, 
I  suppose,  that  we  each  were  most  interested  in.  And 
now  we  have  no  light  but  this  one  and  Emmy's.  But 
we  shall  not  need  them  long.  We  are  in  the  "Saltpetre 
Room,"  where  long  ago  that  substance  was  mined  to 
make  gunpowder  for  the  war.  And  this  room  itself 
has  seen  more  than  one  fight;  for  this  ground  was  sought 
by  all  the  warring  factions.  It  is  very  close  to  the  sur- 
face; and  we  are  very  near  daylight  now." 

So,  turning  to  the  right,  he  led  us  down  a  little  bank 
and  forward.  And  then,  at  another  quick  turn,  we  saw, 
just  a  little  ahead,  the  white  patch  that  meant  the  day. 

There  are  torch-bearers  in  the  darkness  today, 
leading  the  leaderless,  lighting  the  benighted,  reveal- 
ing the  treasures  that  may  be  monuments  or  that  may 
be  plunder.  Some  of  them  are  pine-knot  boys,  bearing 
the  cloudy  light  of  material  science,  careless  of  foot  and 
hand  and  eye,  prodigal  of  beauty,  who  rush  among  the 
treasures  revealed  by  their  torches,  showering  their 
smoke  and  sparks,  shouting  their  gainful  discoveries, 
and  leaving  behind  in  then-  vandal  track  a  ruined  realm. 

Others  there  are,  like  gentle  Emmy,  whose  quiet 


The  Torch-Bearer  301 

little  amber  flame  throws  no  great  splashes  of  light  upon 
a  wide  or  distant  field,  but  with  quiet  illumination  brings 
out  in  pleasing  distinction  the  features  of  a  life  close  at 
hand.  They  are  safe  guides,  and  they  live  long. 

And  to  others  is  given  the  greater  duty  and  the  greater 
joy  to  throw  that  pure  and  strong  and  steady  light 
that  reveals  the  beauty  and  the  grandeur  and  the  glory 
of  a  world  in  which  these  things  are  greatest,  but  where 
they  yet  lie  hidden  in  the  darkness.  He  who  carries 
the  undying  torch  of  truth  has  need  not  to  think  of  him- 
self, his  own  aggrandizement,  his  repute,  his  pleasure. 
He  is  made  an  interpreter  to  those  who  follow  him  or 
who  may  find  him.  He  may  not  boast  to  others  or  to 
his  secret  self  of  his  superior  light  or  of  the  favor  its 
possession  accords  him.  He  may  not  use  it  for  his  pleas- 
ure alone,  forgetting  the  slow  or  the  weak  or  even  the 
careless.  He  is  a  guardian  against  dangers,  a  portrayer 
of  wonders,  a  revealer  of  secrets.  He  may  not  clamor 
against  vulgarity,  lest  he  be  vulgar;  nor  fret  at  way- 
wardness, lest  he  estrange  the  wayward;  nor  be  impa- 
tient at  sluggishness,  lest  he  lose  his  following.  And  if, 
in  patience  and  in  peace,  he  lead  his  people  through  the 
mazes  of  the  dark  land  he  lightens,  teach  them  the 
wonders  and  the  joys  of  the  way  they  tread  until  they 
forget  their  weariness,  and  bring  them  at  last  about  him 
—  yes,  even,  perhaps,  the  smutty  stragglers  that  have 
lost  then:  torches  —  in  the  battle-scarred  vestibule  to 
the  great  new  earth,  he  may  happily  be  able  to  say  to 
them,  "We  are  very  near  the  daylight  now." 

The  mountains  of  the  South  will  not  much  longer 
be  in  any  great  degree  an  unknown  land.  Their  great 
valleys,  always  the  center  of  a  broad  life,  have  become 
the  bases  of  assault  from  all  the  forces  of  the  age  upon  the 
mountain  world.  Capitalism  has  seized  it  in  its  grasp; 
philanthropy  is  casting  its  mantle  over  it.  To  the  west 
of  the  Appalachian  Valley,  the  capitalist  at  work  is  ex- 
ploiting its  great  oil  and  coal  and  iron  and  timber  treas- 
ures; to  the  east,  the  capitalist  at  play  is  raiding  its 


3O2  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

"Land  of  the  Sky."  The  state  is  pushing  its  program 
of  education  farther  and  higher  in  the  mountain  land, 
and  the  forces  of  religion  and  religious  education  are 
making  an  earnest  effort  to  keep  pace. 

Today  the  mountaineer  of  the  accessible  regions  is 
being  lock-stepped  with  the  rest  of  the  country  in  its 
march  of  civilization  —  comrade  not  merely  in  know- 
ledge and  power,  but  in  recession  of  virtue  as  well.  To- 
morrow the  remote  hills  will  echo  to  the  tread  of  this 
same  civilization;  and  it  may  not  be  long  till  we  shall 
have  only  the  nooks  and  crannies  of  the  mountain  land 
to  match,  in  some  sort  of  kinship,  with  the  shanty  towns 
of  the  North,  the  hardscrabble  farms  of  the  East,  and 
the  slums  of  the  great  cities.  In  what  ranks  the  moun- 
taineer will  then  march  depends  upon  the  course  made 
clearest  for  him  today. 

And  so  far  the  broadest  open  road  is  the  road  to  the  new 
Americanism,  paved  with  dollars,  decorated  with  dis- 
play, and  ending  in  dissipation.  The  mountaineer  of 
old  was  dependent  on  his  own  efforts.  If  he  was  "fore- 
thoughted  and  fore-handed/*  he  lived  well  if  plainly  by 
his  industry  and  his  providence.  He  knew  he  must 
make  his  own  crop  and  fat  /iis  own  meat  before  the 
winter,  or  he  should  go  hungry,.  His  wife  knew  she  must 
spin  and  weave  and  fit,  or  tier  family  would  shiver. 
There  was  little  exchange  of  labor  for  cash,  little  cash 
to  be  expended,  and  in  consequence  there  was  self- 
dependence  rather  than  a  trust  in  easy  money  to  be  made 
somehow  when  the  need  came, 

But  today,  cheap  though  mountain  labor  may  be, 
it  has  a  market;  and,  deceived  by  the  sight  of  a  silver 
dollar  every  new  day,  the  dollar  that  once  went  so  far 
around  the  circle  of  the  year,  the  mountaineer  is  apt 
to  forget  his  fields  and  let  other  people  grow  his  stock, 
while  he  speeds  his  strength  for  other  men's  dollars 
and  his  dollars  for  ether  men's  cunning.  And  the  ex- 
change is  not  equal,  &?  he  soon  discovers,  both  because 
his  common  needs  require  more  money  than  he  thought, 


The  Torch-Bearer  303 

and  because  uncommon  needs  and  luxuries  have  been 
born  with  the  advent  of  the  new  life.  Fashions  of  diet 
and  dress  and  adornment  must  be  copied  from  the  world. 
The  sunbonnet  gives  way  to  the  flower-decked  hat,  that 
lasts  half  as  long  and  costs  ten  times  as  much.  Home- 
spun that  knew  no  age  is  discarded  for  bright  calicoes 
that  live  but  a  year.  Rent  eats  big  holes  in  the  weekly 
pay-roll;  and  food,  even  if  stinted  in  desperation,  takes 
more  than  the  laborer  ever  dreamed  food  could  cost. 
The  vices  get  a  new  foothold  in  the  camps  and  the 
towns,  or  under  the  fostering  indulgence  of  millionaires 
at  play. 

If  it  is  to  the  cotton  factory  the  mountaineer  has 
been  lured,  he  finds,  with  his  large  family  of  children, 
a  rare  chance  for  evil  development  of  his  cupidity.  Child 
labor  is  popular  at  the  looms,  and  the  father  can  put 
his  children  and  his  wife  to  work  at  a  combined  wage 
sufficient  to  support  him  in  leisure,  and  this  he  very  fre- 
quently does,  sometimes  conniving  with  conscienceless 
mill-owners  at  the  admittance  of  children  below  the  le- 
gal age. 

If  it  is  to  the  mines  he  goes,  he  takes  his  oldest  boy 
and  works  tremendously  at  first,  perhaps,  until  he  is 
able  to  earn  five  dollars  a  day  underground  —  and  not 
a  cent  out  under  the  sun.  Then,  perhaps,  he  discovers 
that  it  is  not  necessary  to  work  every  day  or  all  day, 
and  his  leisure  time  is  spent  at  the  grog  shop  or 
the  "blind  tiger,"  while  his  easy  money  goes  for  what- 
ever he  may  cast  his  eyes  upon,  until  the  pinch  of  ne- 
cessity drives  him  underground  again. 

But  if  he  has  the  somewhat  more  fortunate  lot  of 
living  hi  the  play-ground  land  of  the  tourist  and  pleas- 
ure-seeker, he  may  not  be  torn  from  his  farm,  but  he 
nevertheless  neglects  it  to  minister  to  the  pleasures  of 
the  wealthy.  He  and  his  sons  discover  that  the  pos- 
session of  a  span  of  horses  and  a  smart  rig,  or  perhaps 
a  second-hand  automobile  bought  on  time,  is  the  open 
sesame  to  a  life  of  rolling  leisure,  with  easy  money, 


304  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

driving  from  mountain  top  to  laurel-lined  glen  with 
parties  whose  fashions  of  dress  he  copies,  and  whose 
fashions  of  morals  he  as  yet  may  only  wonder  at.  His 
wife  more  strenuously,  but  with  the  same  thought  of 
easy  money,  keeps  boarders,  finding  at  the  close  of  the 
season  big  receipts  and  some  small  gain.  And  then 
every  thing  dies  till  the  opening  of  the  next  season. 

Through  all  this  life  of  change  and  excitement  and 
flowing  money,  there  runs  little  thought  of  betterment 
of  mind  and  soul.  The  children  are  likely  to  be  kept 
from  school  for  any  slight  advantage  of  money  earning. 
Religion,  under  the  blighting  influence  of  outsiders' 
neglect  and  light  scorn,  is  shamefacedly  abandoned, 
and  the  easy  tolerance  and  thoughtless  skepticism  of 
America's  great  godless  majority  takes  its  place.  The 
mill-hands  and  the  miners  become  a  migrant  class, 
wandering  from  place  to  place  in  ostensible  search  of 
better  wage  or  living  conditions,  but  in  reality  for  sheer 
weariness  of  life's  monotony  and  a  craving  for  change 
and  excitement.  Their  lands  have  been  sold,  perhaps, 
to  the  great  corporation  seeking  mineral  rights,  or  to 
the  agent  of  the  wealthy  pleasure-seeker  who  wants  a 
summer  residence;  and  the  stability,  the  solid  force,  of 
the  free  land-holder  have  gone  with  their  sale. 

Their  neighbors  who  remain,  refusing  to  be  parted 
from  then1  homes,  are  perhaps  the  select  remnant,  and 
to  them  must  we  look  for  a  maintenance  of  the  worth 
of  the  mountaineer.  And  yet  they  do  not  wholly  escape 
the  influence  of  new  standards  and  opportunities.  The 
mountaineer  is  inevitably  changing.  His  resources  are 
being  taken  by  the  exploiter,  for  the  benefit  of  the  na- 
tion, perhaps,  as  well  as  the  capitalist,  but  not  to  the  net 
profit  of  the  mountaineer.  For  these  new  forces,  so  far, 
are  against  his  development.  His  ancient  arts,  suited 
only  to  the  needs  of  a  primitive,  isolated  society,  are 
useless  in  the  new  era  of  divided  labor  and  mechanical 
substitutes,  and  he  forgets  them.  His  religion  is  too 
old-fashioned  for  a  formal  Christianity  and  a  material- 


The  Torch-Bearer  305 

istic  philosophy,  while  his  culture  is  laughed  out  of 
existence  by  a  society  that  runs  from  board-walk  loung- 
ings  to  Argentine  tangoes.  In  this  sudden  awakening 
from  the  sedate  life  of  our  great-great-grandfathers,  to 
the  feverish,  ceaseless  movement  of  this  crazed  age, 
the  shock  to  the  mountaineer  unanchored  by  a  prime 
hope  in  God  and  unhelped  by  a  training  for  a  broader  life, 
is  likely  to  prove  fatal.  Wrenched  from  his  moorings  as 
an  independent,  self-reliant,  God-fearing  American  free- 
holder, he  drifts  to  swell  the  restless,  discontented, 
terrible  array  of  America's  employed  and  unemployed. 
Whether  he  shall  be  saved  from  this  is  a  question  that 
waits  on  the  action  of  America's  forces  of  conservation. 

Over  against  this  trend  is  set  the  influence  of  the 
school  and  the  true  church  of  Christ.  The  defect  in 
their  program  is  that  they  have  chiefly  followed  rather 
than  preceded  the  economic  invasion.  But  where  they 
are,  they  are  more  than  gathering  salvage;  they  are  sav- 
ing crews  that  may  bring  the  fleet  into  harbor. 

The  state  (which  means  the  community  under  the 
guidance  of  some  great-souled  leaders)  is  pushing  hard 
to  extend  the  term  and  improve  the  efficiency  of  the 
public  school.  It  is  beginning  to  introduce  the  study 
and  practise  of  hygiene  and  to  create  a  love  for  country 
life  and  agricultural  science.  The  more  colorful  life 
typified  by  the  boys'  corn  clubs  and  the  girls'  tomato 
clubs  is  becoming  known  in  the  mountains,  though  as 
yet  only  on  their  outer  edges.  And  a  community  spirit 
is  being  fostered,  more,  perhaps,  by  the  school  than 
by  any  other  agency. 

The  handicap  of  the  school  is  the  scarcity  of  well 
trained  and  devoted  teachers.  And,  beyond  all  local 
problems,  comes  the  query  whether  that  which  the  public 
school  has  failed  to  accomplish  in  the  great  world  out- 
side, where  it  has  not  succeeded  in  stemming  the  tide 
of  materialism,  it  can  accomplish  here.  It  can  train 
the  intellect,  it  can  sharpen  the  wits  for  the  fight  over 
material  things,  but  it  cannot  shape  the  soul. 

20 


306  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

To  the  church,  that  true  church  of  God  which  stands  by 
the  Bible,  resists  the  aggressions  of  clerical  and  scholarly 
agnosticism,  believes  in  the  law,  trusts  hi  the  gospel, 
preaches  salvation  through  Christ  alone,  and  holds  up 
the  hope  of  a  returning  Saviour  who  shall  restore  all 
things,  to  that  church  belongs  the  greatest  responsi- 
bility and  the  greatest  opportunity  of  the  age  in  the  sav- 
ing of  the  mountaineer.  This  is  the  religion  yet  popular 
in  the  mountains;  unknown  in  its  fulness,  perhaps,  not 
all  its  bearings  recognized,  not  all  its  obligations  ob- 
served, but  yet  in  substance  treasured  in  the  hearts  of 
the  mountain  people. 

To  them  let  men  and  women  come  as  unassuming 
Christian  friends,  settling  among  them  as  farmers,  or 
mechanics,  or  nurses,  or  housewives,  holding  up  the 
steady  light  that  illumines  and  wins.  To  them  also  is 
due  to  come  the  torch-bearers  who  can  throw  the  broad, 
clear  light  of  flaming  truth  upon  the  uneven  path,  the 
dark  abysses,  and  the  splendid  walls  and  domes. 

Who  has  more  light  has  more  responsibility.  He  to 
whom  has  been  entrusted  so  great  a  power  must  seek 
for  wisdom  to  use  it  righteously  and  well.  Not  hi  boast- 
ing, not  hi  self-gratulation,  not  in  stupid  arrogance, 
but  with  earnest  thought  for  the  slightest  and  the  great- 
est good  he  may  do  others — in  this  spirit  must  the 
light-bearer  come.  And  for  him  the  mountains  hold  a  re- 
ward that  he  may  not  fully  realize  until  he  is  about  to 
lead  his  people  into  the  great  day  of  a  new  heavens  and 
a  new  earth. 


XXVII 

A  CHOSEN  PEOPLE 

THERE  have  been  many  peoples  chosen  of  God 
through  time's  history,  and  never  once  from  among 
the  mighty  of  earth.  They  have  done  great  deeds,  they 
have  preached  great  messages,  they  have  endured  great 
trials,  they  have  won  great  victories.  They  have  seen  a 
world  drowned  in  overwhelming  flood,  they  have  turned 
their  backs  upon  a  crumbling  Babel  to  found  an  empire 
of  souls,  they  have  trod  through  deserts  and  camped 
beneath  mountains  where  wonders  of  earth  matched 
wonders  of  the  heavens,  they  have  turned  from  the 
shadow  of  a  Cross  to  become  the  ambassadors  of  a  King- 
dom. In  the  dungeon  and  at  the  stake  they  have  tri- 
umphantly assaulted  the  gates  of  hell;  through  jungles 
and  deserts,  through  witchcrafts  and  tyrannies,  through 
stripes  and  imprisonments,  through  perils  of  land  and 
sea  and  wrestlings  with  the  princes  of  the  powers  of 
darkness  they  have  carried  the  banner  of  their  King  — 
a  chosen  people,  but  not  from  the  great  of  earth. 

They  have  heard  the  great  apostle  say:  "God  hath 
chosen  the  foolish  things  of  the  world  to  confound  the 
wise;  and  God  hath  chosen  the  weak  things  of  the  world 
to  confound  the  things  which  are  mighty;  and  base 
things  of  the  world,  and  things  which  are  despised,  hath 
God  chosen,  yea,  and  things  which  are  not,  to  bring  to 
nought  things  that  are."  They  have  heard  the  great 

(307) 


308  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

prophet  say:  "The  Lord  did  not  set  his  love  upon  you, 
nor  choose  you,  because  ye  were  more  in  number  than 
any  people;  for  ye  were  the  fewest  of  all  people."  And 
they  have  learned  to  repeat  the  humble  avowal  put  into 
Israel's  mouth:  "A  Syrian  ready  to  perish  was  my  father, 
and  he  went  down  into  Egypt,  and  sojourned  there 
with  a  few  .  .  .  and  the  Egyptians  evil  entreated 
us,  and  afflicted  us,  and  laid  upon  us  hard  bondage 
.  .  .  And  the  Lord  brought  us  forth  out  of  Egypt 
with  a  mighty  hand,  and  with  an  outstretched  arm, 
and  with  great  terribleness,  and  with  signs,  and  with 
wonders."  And  thus  they  hear  his  purpose:  "  Ye  are  a 
chosen  generation,  a  royal  priesthood,  an  holy  nation, 
a  peculiar  people;  that  ye  should  show  forth  the  praises 
of  him  who  hath  called  you  out  of  darkness  into  his 
marvelous  light."  "I  the  Lord  have  called  thee  in  right- 
eousness, and  will  hold  thine  hand,  and  will  keep  thee, 
and  give  thee  for  a  covenant  of  the  people,  for  a  light  of 
the  Gentiles;  to  open  the  blind  eyes,  to  bring  out  the 
prisoners  from  the  prison,  and  them  that  sit  in  darkness 
out  of  the  prison  house." 

For  this  purpose  God  has  called,  not  men  from 
king's  houses,  not  men  clothed  in  soft  raiment,  not  men 
shaken  like  reeds  in  the  wind.  He  has  called  men  who 
worked  with  their  hands,  like  Noah;  men  who  turned 
their  faces  away  from  the  city,  like  Abraham;  men  whom 
he  snatched  from  prospective  thrones,  like  Moses,  to 
learn  patience  in  the  wilderness;  men  who  learned  pa- 
tience and  trust  and  joy  in  the  fields,  like  David;  men  who 
despised  effeminacy,  like  Elijah;  abstemious  men,  like 
Daniel;  and  single-minded  men,  like  John  the  Baptist. 
The  life  of  plain  living  and  single  aim  that  made  these 
men  the  chosen  of  God,  is  bounded  by  laws  far  too 
strict  to  invite  the  majority  of  men.  When  God  would 
try  the  experiment  of  embracing  within  the  ranks  of  his 
chosen  people  a  whole  nation,  heirs  of  the  promise  made 
their  fathers,  he  gave  them  in  great  detail  the  laws  whose 
essence  then1  fathers  had  known  and  kept.  They  were 


A  Chosen  People  309 

laws  that  would  distinguish  them  for  temperance,  pa- 
tience, justice,  loyalty,  and  devotion.  If  they  could 
keep  that  code,  it  should  be  their  wisdom  and  under- 
standing "in  the  sight  of  the  nations,  which  shall  hear 
all  these  statutes,  and  say,  Surely  this  great  nation  is 
a  wise  and  understanding  people. " 

Seldom,  however,  were  ail  this  chosen  people  true  to 
their  God;  and  from  among  them  he  must  again  and 
again  take,  to  do  his  work,  his  true  chosen  ones,  like 
Gideon's  band  in  the  valley  of  Jezreel  and  Jonathan  at 
Michmash,  like  Elijah's  scattered  seven  thousand  and 
the  three  worthies  on  the  plain  of  Dura.  But  in  every 
case  the  chosen  ones  were  noble  souls  who  had  had  train- 
ing, by  fate  or  will,  in  hard  and  simple  living.  And  thus 
has  it  been  in  all  succeeding  ages. 

Moreover,  this  distinction  has  not  been  a  legacy, 
kept  by  one  people  from  age  to  age.  It  is  a  spiritual, 
not  a  natural,  birthright.  The  fathers  that  should  rightly 
train  their  sons  did  indeed  pass  on  to  them  in  some 
measure  the  precious  heritage;  but  few  were  the  sons 
who  could  be  soul-proof  against  worldly  prosperity.  So, 
then,  the  honor  has  passed  from  people  to  people,  each 
one  of  which  came  forth  from  a  life  of  simplicity  and  in- 
dustry to  meet  the  tests. 

Who  were  the  fathers  of  those  vine-dressers  and 
herdsmen  of  Italy's  Alps  that  through  the  midnight  of 
Europe  defied  and  defeated  the  armies  of  Rome?  Who 
were  the  followers  of  Ziska  and  Procopius  but  breakers 
of  clods  and  threshers  of  grain,  when  they  were  called  to 
swing  their  iron  flails  against  Austria's  priest-ridden 
power?  Who  had  heard  of  the  prowess  of  the  Low- 
landers,  except  as  builders  of  dikes  and  makers  of 
meadows,  when  they  rose  against  the  barbarism  of  Catholic 
Spain,  and  established  a  home  for  freedom?  Who  prophe- 
sied, when  a  little  band  of  persecuted  men  found  refuge 
on  the  estates  of  a  German  count,  that  from  feeble 
Hernhutt  was  to  go  forth  the  greatest  missionary  cru- 
sade since  the  days  of  the  apostles,  that  from  that 


3io  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

flickering  light  should  flame  forth  a  glory  through  the 
frozen  North  and  the  wild  wilderness  of  the  West, 
through  the  dank  jungles  of  the  tropics,  through  deserts, 
and  to  the  isles  of  the  sea? 

God  is  no  respecter  of  persons,  and  in  every  land  he 
has  those  that  serve  him.  Whosoever  will  may  make 
one  of  the  chosen.  Philistine  and  Canaanite,  Ethio- 
pian and  Gaul,  Chinese  and  Kanaka,  have  furnished 
recruits  for  the  army  of  the  Lord  —  rare  souls  who  re- 
volted from  then1  surroundings  and  their  training,  and 
by  overcoming  gained  power  as  warriors  of  God.  Yet 
their  lives  are  also  proof  of  the  fact  that  privation, 
whether  chosen  or  forced,  is  the  armorer  of  heroes.  And 
it  is  from  among  those  who  as  a  people  are  accustomed 
to  this  privation  that  the  most  recruits  are  gained. 

It  has  come  now  to  the  time  when  God  is  enlisting 
his  last  legion.  The  long  war  against  sin  and  Satan  is 
drawing  to  a  close.  The  last  defense  of  God's  positions 
must  be  the  most  courageous,  and  the  last  assaults 
upon  the  deviPs  trenches  must  be  the  most  determined 
and  heroic.  Is  it  too  much  to  expect  of  our  King  that, 
while  receiving  volunteers  from  every  land,  he  has  also 
been  training  in  his  mountain  strongholds  a  picked  guard 
for  a  special  service,  the  spiritual  sons  and  successors 
of  Gideon  and  Elijah,  of  Maccabeus  and  Gianavello,  of 
Zwingle  and  Knox?  For  this  position  and  this  service 
are  the  mountaineers  of  Appalachia  fit.  Do  any  question 
then1  fitness?  —  Listen  to  the  testimony  of  those  who 
know  them  best. 

In  their  souls  lives  the  mystic  beauty  of  the  hills 
that  inspired  God's  prophets  of  old:  "Only  a  super- 
ficial observer  could  fail  to  understand  that  the  moun- 
tain people  really  love  their  wilderness  —  love  it 
for  its  beauty,  for  its  freedom.  Their  intimacy  with  it 
dates  from  a  babyhood  when  the  thrill  of  clean  wet 
sand  was  good  to  little  feet;  when  'frog  houses'  were 
built  and  little  tracks  were  printed  in  rows  all  over  the 
shore  of  the  creek;  when  the  beginning  of  esthetic  feel- 


A  Chosen  People  311 

ing  found  expression  in  necklaces  of  scarlet  haws  and 
headdresses  pinned  and  braided  together  of  oak  leaves, 
cardinal  flowers,  and  fern;  when  bear-grass  in  spring, 
'sarvices'  and  berries  in  summer,  and  muscadines  in 
autumn  were  first  sought  after  and  prized  most  for  the 
'wild  flavor/  the  peculiar  tang  of  the  woods  which  they 
contain. 

"I  once  rode  up  the  Side  with  a  grandmother  from 
Sawyer's  Springs,  who  cried  out  as  the  overhanging 
curve  of  the  bluff,  crowned  with  pines,  came  into  view: 
'Now  ain't  that  finer  than  any  picter  you  ever  seed 
in  your  life? — and  they  call  us  pore  mountaineers! 
We  git  more  out  o'  life  than  anybody.7 

"The  charm  and  mystery  of  by-gone  days  broods 
over  the  mountain  country  —  the  charm  of  pioneer 
hardihood,  of  primitive  peace,  of  the  fatalism  of  ancient 
peoples,  of  the  rites  and  legends  of  the  aborigines.  To 
one  who  understands  these  high  solitudes  it  is  no  marvel 
that  the  inhabitants  should  be  mystics,  dreamers  given 
to  fancies  often  absurd  but  often  wildly  sweet. 

"Nothing  less  than  the  charm  of  their  stern  mother- 
land could  hold  them  here.  They  know  well  enough 
that  elsewhere  they  might  sit  by  the  flesh-pots.  Oc- 
casionally a  whole  starved-out  family  will  emigrate 
westward,  and,  having  settled,  will  spend  years  in  simply 
waiting  for  a  chance  to  sell  out  and  move  back  again. 
All  alike  cling  to  the  ungracious  acres  they  have  so  pa- 
tiently and  hardly  won,  because  of  the  wide  world  that 
lies  outside  their  puny  fences,  because  of  the  dream  vistas, 
blue  and  violet,  that  lead  their  eyes  afar  among  the 
hills."1 

They  have  the  poverty,  the  bare  living,  that  has 
made  the  more  than  Spartan  heroes  of  the  church: 
"This  poverty  of  natural  resources  makes  the  mountain- 
eer's fight  for  life  a  hard  one.  At  the  same  time,  it  gives 
him  vigor,  hardihood,  and  endurance  of  body;  it  saves 
him  from  the  comforts  and  dainties  that  weaken;  and 

'Emma  B.  Miles,  The  Spirit  of  the  Mountains,  pp.  17-19. 


312  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

it  makes  him  a  formidable  competitor  when  it  forces 
him  to  come  down  into  the  plains,  as  it  often  does."1 

Will  there  be  need  today,  in  foreign  lands  or  in  the 
hard  places  of  the  home  field,  for  such  endurance  as  was 
shown  by  the  circuit-riders  of  1800? — Behold  it  still 
living  in  the  mountaineer  heirs  of  those  fathers:  "As  a 
class,  they  have  great  and  restless  physical  energy. 
Considering  the  quantity  and  quality  of  what  they  eat, 
there  is  no  people  who  can  beat  them  in  endurance  of 
strain  and  privation.  They  are  great  walkers  and  car- 
riers of  burdens.  .  .  .  One  of  our  women,  known 
as  'Long  Goody '  (I  measured  her;  six  feet  three  inches 
she  stood)  walked  eighteen  miles  across  the  Smokies 
into  Tennessee,  crossing  at  an  elevation  of  five  thousand 
feet,  merely  to  shop  more  advantageously  than  she 
could  at  home.  The  next  day  she  shouldered  fifty  pounds 
of  flour  and  some  other  groceries  and  bore  them  home 
before  nightfall.  Uncle  Jimmy  Crawford,  in  his  seventy- 
second  year,  came  to  join  a  party  of  us  on  a  bear-hunt. 
He  walked  twelve  miles  across  the  mountain,  carrying 
his  equipment  and  four  days7  rations  for  himself  and 
dogs.  Finding  that  we  had  gone  on  ahead  of  him,  he 
followed  to  our  camp  on  Siler's  Bald,  twelve  more  miles, 
climbing  another  three  thousand  feet,  much  of  it  by  bad 
trail,  finishing  the  twenty-four-mile  trip  in  seven  hours 
—  and  then  wanted  to  turn  in  and  help  cut  the  night 
wood.  Young  mountaineers  afoot  easily  outstrip  a 
horse  on  a  day's  journey  by  road  and  trail. 

"In  a  climate  where  it  showers  about  two  days  out 
of  three,  through  spring  and  summer,  the  women  go 
about,  like  the  men,  unshielded  from  the  wet.  If  you 
expostulate,  one  will  laugh  and  reply:  'I  ain't  sugar, 
nor  salt,  nor  nobody's  honey.'  Slickers  are  worn  only 
on  horseback  —  and  two-thirds  of  our  people  had  no 
horses." 

"In  bear-hunting,  our  parties  usually  camped  at 
about  five  thousand  feet  above  sea  level.  At  this  ele- 

Fox,  Jr.,  Blue-grass  and  Rhododendron,  p.  17. 


A  Chosen  People  313 

vation,  in  the  long  nights  before  Christmas  the  cold 
often  was  bitter,  and  the  wind  might  blow  a  gale.  Some- 
times the  native  hunters  would  lie  out  in  the  open  all  night 
without  a  sign  of  a  blanket  or  an  ax.  They  would  say: 
'La!  Many's  the  night  I've  been  out  when  the  frost 
was  spewed  up  so  high  (measuring  three  or  four  inches 
with  the  hand),  and  that  right  around  the  fire,  too.' 
Cattle  hunters  in  the  mountains  never  carry  a  blanket 
or  a  shelter-cloth,  and  they  sleep  out  wherever  night 
finds  them,  often  in  pouring  rain  or  flying  snow.  .  .  . 
Such  nurture  from  childhood  makes  white  men  as  in- 
different to  the  elements  as  Fuegians."1 

Some  even  of  the  mountaineer's  faults  are  born  of 
his  virtues.  Is  he  quick  to  resent  injury  and  apt  to 
strike  hard  in  revenge? — it  is  a  trait  derived  from  his 
regard  for  justice  and  schooled  by  his  sense  of  personal 
responsibility  and  clan  loyalty:  " Consider  for  a  moment 
the  mental  attitude  of  the  Elizabethan  gentleman  who 
carried  a  sword,  or  the  Southern  gentleman  who  car- 
ries a  revolver.  He  has  not  yet  entrusted  himself  in 
all  things  to  the  protection  of  his  government.  He 
looks  upon  the  state  as  an  organization  for  carrying  on 
foreign  wars,  but  feels  that  it  is  his  own  prerogative 
to  defend  his  property,  his  household,  and  his  honor 
with  his  own  right  arm. 

"This  temper,  still  strong  in  all  the  South,  is  natu- 
rally strongest  in  the  mountains,  where  as  a  matter  of 
fact  the  government  has  not  always  been  able  to  inspire 
either  confidence  or  fear.  The  conditions  which  some- 
times justified  arming  for  self-defense  on  the  frontier 
are  likely  to  be  present  more  or  less  in  many  parts  of 
the  South,  and  particularly  in  the  mountains. 

"The  operations  of  the  government  are  weakened 
by  the  fact  that  it  has  never  had  the  thorough-going 
efficiency  known  in  some  other  places,  and  the  further 
fact  that  mountains  furnish  convenient  refuges  for  those 
who  defy  the  law.  Furthermore,  in  Southern  commu- 

1Kephart,  Our  Southern  Highlanders,  pp.  216,  217,  219. 


314  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

nities  which  have  received  no  foreign  influx  and  sent 
out  few  settlers  to  the  West,  everybody  is  related  by 
ties  of  blood  to  everybody  else.  In  rural  life  this  counts 
for  much.  Family  loyalty  requires  that  one  support  his 
kindred  in  court  and  quarrel  to  the  last  traceable  degree. 
.  .  .  [Yet]  there  is  probably  no  mountain  country 
in  which  ten  per  cent  of  the  population  have  ever  been 
engaged  hi  these  lawless  proceedings.  The  mass  of  the 
people  is  made  up  of  simple,  primitive  people,  showing 
the  strong  traits  of  then1  race  —  independence,  respect 
for  religion,  family  affection,  patriotism."1 

Undaunted  before  difficulties,  daring  and  resource- 
ful, able  to  make  the  farthest  use  of  the  most  limited 
opportunities,  is  the  best  type  of  the  mountaineer: 
"  Where  the  struggle  with  nature  has  not  too  deeply 
depressed  the  body  and  mind,  all  the  splendid  homely 
virtues  of  the  pioneer  survive,  and  often  take  on  rare 
attractiveness  in  the  sons  and  daughters  of  the  mount- 
tains.  Their  delayed  development  conserves  much  that  this 
age  lacks  of  unspoiled  elemental  manhood  and  simplicity 
of  spirit  —  both  profoundly  urgent  moral  needs  of  today. 
Beneath  a  reckless  individualism  and  ignorant  conceit, 
one  discerns  resources  of  sturdy  independence.  The 
mountaineer  faces  his  hard  circumstances  with  a  heart 
at  once  undaunted  and  resigned.  A  saving  sense  of  hu- 
mor breaks  every  fall  and  turns  defeat  into  more  than 
half  victory.  Having  shrewdly  fathomed  human  nature 
as  it  exists  in  his  narrow  range,  he  finds  his  judgments 
surprizingly  just  and  accurate  when  opportunity  comes 
to  apply  them  to  the  larger  world.  He  undertakes  un- 
wonted responsibility  with  a  certain  honorable  large- 
ness and  perspective;  thus  showing  that  wisdom  is 
born  of  insight  rather  than  of  mere  multiplication  of 
experiences.  Lincoln  was  such  a  man  and  had  such  wis- 
dom. '  He  that  is  faithful  in  that  which  is  least  is  faith- 
ful also  in  much.'  Training  in  the  school  of  adversity 
often  develops  in  the  mountaineer  a  practical  capacity 

1  William  Goodell  Frost,  in  Independent,  1912,  pp.  709,  711. 


A  Chosen  People  315 

for  making  small  resources  count  which  spells  marvelous 
success  when  once  the  instruments  of  modern  life  are 
put  into  his  hands.  Recently  I  watched  a  mountain 
student's  first  inspection  of  the  newly  installed  hot-air 
furnace  in  a  mission  school  dormitory.  The  moun- 
taineer, like  the  Indian,  studiously  refrains  from  con- 
fessing surprize  at  the  unaccustomed;  but  this  boy's 
curiosity  and  interest  got  the  better  of  him.  Soon  he 
was  freely  speculating  on  the  operation  and  success  of 
the  innovation;  yet  not  for  a  moment  did  he  admit 
to  the  world  or  to  himself  that  he  was  not  its  potential 
master.  He  seemed  to  me  typical  of  the  mountaineer 
facing  modern  civilization.  The  mood  of  the  forward- 
looking  among  them  is  the  mood  of  conquest.  Put  it  to 
the  test,  by  furnishing  it  an  opportunity,  and  it  will 
justify  itself  as  it  has  done  ten  thousand  times." 

These  traits  and  powers,  admirable  and  useful  as 
they  are,  might  yet  miss  their  chief  value  if  ununited 
and  uninspired  by  the  power  of  religion.  But,  reinforced 
by  them,  and  binding  them  together  for  service,  is  the 
predominant  religious  nature  of  the  mountaineer:  "The 
mountaineer  lives  'the  simple  life7  in  close  touch  with 
nature  in  its  varied  manifestations.  From  nature,  but 
more  yet  from  the  Scriptures,  and  perhaps  principally 
from  strong  heredity,  he  has  acquired  an  absolute  faith 
in  a  personal,  omnipotent,  omniscient,  and  omnipresent 
God,  who  has  to  do  with  him  in  'all  the  good  and  ill 
that  checker  life.'  He  believes  in  the  substitutionary  sac- 
rifice of  Jesus  as  the  Saviour  of  the  world.  He  has  no 
doubt  that  Jesus  will  'come  to  judge  the  quick  and 
the  dead';  while  'the  forgiveness  of  sins,  the  resurrec- 
tion of  the  body,  and  the  life  everlasting'  are  unques- 
tioned tenets  of  his  creed. 

"His  faith  is  not  merely  intellectual  or  theoretical, 
but  it  takes  strong  hold  of  his  thinking  and,  in  many 
«ases,  of  his  life  and  conduct.  The  Southern  mountain- 
eers are  grave  by  nature.  The  few  native  ballads  that 

JH.  Paul  Douglass,  Christian  Reconstruction  in  the  South,  pp.  33 *»  3?2. 


316  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

they  have  are,  like  those  of  most  mountain  dwellers, 
somewhat  weird  and  are  written  in  the  minor  key.  The 
native  character  is  a  serious  one.  Nothing  interests  a 
mountain  audience  so  much  as  does  a  debate  on  some 
question  of  Biblical  interpretation  or  doctrinal  dispute; 
and  where  the  Spirit  of  God  is  moving  upon  hearts, 
nothing  holds  the  attention  more  fixedly  than  does  a 
discussion  of  some  point  of  Christian  duty.  The  one 
book  that  is  read  in  the  Appalachians  more  than  are  all 
others  combined  is  the  Bible;  and  many  readers  have 
an  intimate  acquaintance  with  its  contents. 

"As  has  been  said  of  the  race  of  Shem,  it  may  be  af- 
firmed of  the  mountain  race,  'It  has  a  genius  for  relig- 
ion/ Too  often,  as  everywhere  else,  this  religious 
nature  is  dwarfed  and  misshapen  by  environment  and  na- 
tural depravity;  but  though  stunted  and  deformed,  it 
often,  by  many  a  token  that  is  recognized  by  the  quick 
vision  of  sympathetic  lovers  of  souls,  proclaims  its  la- 
tent strength  and  future  possibilities.  There  is  always 
something  responsive  to  appeal  to,  in  the  man  of  the 
mountains." 

To  see  a  promise  of  this  power,  you  have  but  to  step 
into  the  mountains  and  witness  the  earnest  evangelism 
of  such  preachers  as  "Proctor  Bill":  "I  shall  never 
forget  his  manner,  or  his  matter.  Both  were  peculiar 
and  unique.  He  spoke  with  tremendous  earnestness  and 
energy.  He  was  Boanerges,  in  action.  No  one  could 
doubt  his  sincerity,  nor  his  courage,  yet  his  language 
was  as  simple  as  a  child's,  for  he  knew  no  other,  being  an 
unlearned  man.  It  was  the  speech  of  the  common  people, 
who  heard  Jesus  gladly.  It  was  largely  the  language  of 
the  Bible. 

"It  was  in  the  summer-time,  but  he  had  on  a  suit 
of  whiter  clothes,  and  the  effort  of  speaking  covered 
him  with  perspiration.  He  was  profoundly  moved,  and 
he  moved  the  people  as  few  college  men  could  have 
done. 

1  Samuel  T.  Wilson,  The  Southern  Mountaineers,  pp.  154-156. 


A  Chosen  People  317 

"As  to  the  matter  of  his  discourse,  I  was  as  much 
surprized.  It  was  largely  scriptural  and  entirely  evangeli- 
cal. His  quotations  were  apt  and  correct,  and  the  won- 
der grew  when  I  learned  how  and  where  he  was  reared. 

"I  shall  never  forget  his  introduction.  As  near  as 
I  can  recollect  it,  he  said :  '  My  friends,  you  know  me.  I 
was  born  and  bred  in  this  country.  On  this  very  spot 
where  this  schoolhouse  stands  I  once  sold  and  drank 
whiskey.  Left  an  orphan  by  a  good  father,  I  had  no 
one  to  teach  me  to  do  right.  My  mother  was  a  god- 
less woman.  I  never  heard  her  pray  in  my  life.  When  a 
boy,  I  tried  to  kill  Bob  Hill  for  striking  a  smaller  boy. 
As  I  grew  older  and  larger  I  grew  more  wicked  and  des- 
perate. In  drinking,  gambling,  and  fighting  I  was  a 
leader.  Just  over  this  hill  I  tried  to  kill  a  man  for  an 
insult.  I  was  tried  and  sent  to  the  penitentiary  for  three 
years.  I  had  never  learned  to  read,  and  I  never  owned 
a  Bible.  I  neither  feared  God  nor  regarded  man. 

"In  the  penitentiary,  I  was  compelled  to  attend 
the  prison  worship  on  the  Sabbath  day.  A  Mr.  Mor- 
rison preached,  and  God  sent  his  words  to  my  heart. 
I  felt  I  was  a  lost  sinner,  and  for  twelve  days  I  could 
neither  eat  nor  sleep.  I  lay  in  my  cell,  the  most  miser- 
able of  men,  and  cried  to  God  for  pardon.  Blessed  be 
his  name,  he  heard  my  cry  and  pardoned  my  sins  and 
saved  my  soul.  I  rose  up  a  new  man,  and  determined  to 
read  God's  Word.  I  was  then  thirty-nine  years  old, 
but,  by  hard  work,  I  learned  to  read,  and  determined 
to  tell  others  what  he  had  done  for  my  soul.  This  is 
why  I  am  here  today/  This  is  only  a  bare  outline  of 
what  he  said. 

"It  was  a  remarkable  discourse  and  produced  a  pro- 
found impression.  Men  knew  he  was  honest  and  ear- 
nest, and  not  afraid  to  say  what  he  believed.  Since  the 
day  he  left  the  penitentiary,  he  has  been  trying  to  preach 
the  gospel  in  the  very  country  which  knew  his  sin  and 
shame.  Men  hear  him  and  wonder  at  the  wonderful 


3i8  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

change.  Many  have  been  led  to  Christ  through  his 
ministry. 

"  Having  no  horse,  he  walks  across  the  mountains 
to  his  appointments.  Having  no  money,  he  has  no 
books  nor  clerical  clothes.  His  only  possessions  con- 
sist of  a  wife  and  four  little  girls  and  a  boy,  on  a  rented 
mountain  farm.  This  he  works  through  the  week; 
and  walks  to  his  appointments  on  Sundays,  sometimes 
fifteen  miles."1 

It  is  the  faith  of  the  mountaineer's  helpers  that  from 
the  seed  sown  there  will  come  a  more  bounteous  har- 
vest, a  wider  husbandry,  than  from  an  equal  labor  any- 
where else  bestowed:  "I  make  the  statement  more  as 
a  hope  than  as  a  prophecy,  but  I  feel  sure  of  my  ground 
hi  saying  that  these  North  American  Highlanders  will 
yet  become  a  grand  race;  a  race  that  shall  stand  for 
freedom  political  and  industrial;  a  race  that  can  no  more 
endure  unjust  rule  than  it  can  thrive  in  the  tainted  ah* 
of  the  low  country.  Types  come  and  pass  in  nature's 
scheme  of  economy,  but  not  until  their  usefulness  is 
ended.  The  mountaineers  are  a  young  people,  not 
ready  to  pass  away;  then*  strength  lies  dormant,  await- 
ing its  hour.  To  the  mountains,  in  tune  to  come,  we  may 
look  for  great  men,  thinkers  as  well  as  workers,  leaders 
of  religious  and  poetic  thought,  and  statesmen  above 
all.  So  much  passionate  loyalty  cannot  be  lost  to  the 
government,  must  find  expression  in  redeemers  of  prac- 
tical politics  as  well  as  in  military  service.  From  the  moun- 
tains will  yet  arise  a  quickening  of  American  ideals 
and  American  life."5 

"If  we  enter  into  this  field  merely  to  denude  the  hills 
of  timber  and  to  penetrate  them  for  coal,  our  work 
degenerates  into  a  selfish  enterprise,  and  the  mountain 
people  may  become  a  positive  menace  to  our  country. 
If  the  mountaineers  are  to  be  given  up  entirely  to  the 
tender  mercies  of  commercialism,  we  might  as  well 

1  Edward  O.  Guerrant,   The  Galax  Gatherers,  pp.  69-71. 

2  Emma  B.  Miles,  The  Spirit  of  the  Mountains,  pp.  »99»  200. 


A  Chosen  People  319 

give  up  all  hope  of  ever  recruiting  our  strength  from  theirs. 
They  must  be  given  financial  aid  in  their  educational 
struggle,  so  that  they  can  reach  a  knowledge  of  them- 
selves and  their  capabilities.  They  need  to  become 
acquainted  with  the  best  elements  of  modern  civiliza- 
tion, and  they  need  to  be  left  in  profound  ignorance  of 
all  else.  Their  individuality  must  not  be  merged  into 
the  monotonous  life  of  our  own  communities.  Their 
vigorous  traits  of  character  must  be  preserved  intact. 
The  native  shrewdness  that  is  shown  in  escaping  the 
vigilance  of  revenue  officers  and  the  courage  displayed 
in  the  management  of  the  feuds,  should  be  turned  to 
higher  uses.  Their  contempt  of  physical  harm  and  their 
devotion  to  principle  may  be  of  inestimable  value  in  the 
maintenance  and  propagation  of  spiritual  truth.  Their 
only  need  of  others  is  to  aid  in  helping  them  to  know 
themselves,  and  after  that  aid  has  been  given,  'let  us 
lift  our  eyes  to  the  mountains,  from  whence  cometh  our 
help/ 

"Again,  it  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  mission 
work  in  the  mountains  is  a  work  of  charity,  or  a  one- 
sided philanthropy,  where  much  is  given  and  nothing 
is  received  in  return.  The  returns  are  immediate,  and 
of  far  greater  value  than  the  investment.  As  it  is,  the 
whole  country  might,  with  profit,  take  lessons  from  these 
hardy  mountaineers  in  love  of  home  and  country,  in 
hospitality,  in  unwavering  friendship,  in  adherence  to 
conviction  and  in  reverence  to  God.  They  need  no  mas- 
ter come  from  abroad  to  teach  them  patience  under 
difficulties,  or  endurance  under  adversities.  In  the  homely 
virtues  they  are  our  peers,  and  in  the  matter  of  strength 
and  courage  they  are  the  masters  of  all."1 

The  optimism  that  sees  in  man's  history  a  natural 
evolution  from  base  to  noble,  that  hopes  therefrom  a 
development  of  the  race  into  demi-gods,  and  that  looks 
to  the  upbuilding  of  any  people  as  a  factor  in  that  apothe- 
osis, is  doomed  to  a  disappointment  as  certain  as  the 

Professor  McDiarmid,  in  leaflet  of  the  Soul  Winners'  Society. 


320  The  Men  of  the  Mountains 

Judgment  Day.  But  the  optimism  that  is  based  upon  the 
regenerating  power  of  the  religion  of  Jesus  Christ;  that, 
while  seeking  the  elevation  of  all  men,  disappoints 
itself  with  no  hope  of  a  universal  salvation;  that,  above 
all,  is  inspired  with  the  certainty  of  an  early  and  com- 
plete triumph  of  good  over  evil,  through  the  advent  of 
our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  —  that  optimism  is  true,  and  sure, 
and  unconquerable.  In  that  spirit  of  optimism  the 
Christian  world  may  look  with  confidence  into  the 
swiftly  coming  clouds  of  battle;  and,  instructed  by  the 
Word  of  God,  may  expect  the  reinforcement  necessary 
for  victory.  And  for  such  a  reinforcement  we  may  on 
earth,  as  well  as  toward  heaven,  lift  up  our  eyes  to  the 
hills,  whence  cometh  our  help.  For  "the  God  of  the 
hills"  whom  the  Syrians  feared  has  kept  in  reserve  in  the 
mountains  a  chosen  people  who  shall  have  a  mighty  part 
in  the  closing  of  the  wars  of  the  Lord. 


16*75'$*) 


DUE  AS  STAMPED  Rimyy 

MAY  15  1980 


NO.  DD6,  60m 


